THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

217 

IrU 

1373 


I 

: 


s 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 


OR 

THE  HUMORISTS. 

A MEDLEY. 


BY 

GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


“ Under  this  cloud  I walk,  Gentlemen ; pardon  my  rude  assault. 
I am  a traveller,  who,  having  survived  most  of  the  terrestrial  angles 
of  this  globe,  am  hither  arrived,  to  peruse  this  little  spot.” — Christ- 
mas Ordinary. 


THE  AUTHOR’S  REVISED  EDITION. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  & CO. 

1873. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18C5,  by 
George  P.  Putnam, 

in  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  D is  trier 
of  New  York 


IRVING’S  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 


PEOPLE’S  EDITION. 


"rj 

JD 


RACEBMBGE  HALL 


BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  & CO, 


m mm 

OF  THE 

BlVaiiSTr  CfOLKSIS 


CONTENTS. 


The  Hall  .... 

Tiie  Busy  Man  . 

18 

Family  Servants  . 

. 25 

The  Widow 

34 

The  Lovers  .... 

. 39 

Family  Relics  . 

44 

An  Old  Soldier  . 

. 51 

The  Widow’s  Retinue 

56 

Ready-Money  Jack 

. 61 

Bachelors  .... 

• 

69 

Wives 

. 74 

Story-Telling  . 

82 

The  Stout  Gentleman 

. 84— 

Forest  Trees 

99 

A Literary  Antiquary 

. 107 

The  Farm-House 

114 

Horsemanship 

. 120 

Love  Symptoms  . 

126 

Falconry  .... 

. 130 

Hawking  .... 

136 

St.  Mark’s  Eve 

. 144 

Gentility  .... 

156 

Fortune-Telling  . 

161 

Love-Charms 

168 

The  Library  .... 

, 174 

The  Student  of  Salamanca 

. 

177 

English  Country  Gentlemen 

• . 

. 276 

A Bachelor’s  Conffssion 

. 

. 

286 

English  Gravity  . 

. 

. 

, . , 

291 

618920 


VI 


CONTEXTS. 


PAG! 

Gypsies 299 

May-Day  Customs 305 

Village  Worthies  ....  . 311 

The  Schoolmaster  , 315 

The  School  .......  322 

A Village  Politician 320 

The  Rookery 332 

May-Day 341 

The  Manuscript 354 

V^Annette  Deiarbre  . . ; . , . . 357"* 

Travelling 387 

Popular  Superstitions 395 

The  Culprit 406 

Family  Misfortunes 415 

Lovers’  Troubles 420 

The  Historian 427 

The  Haunted  House  ......  430 

VDolph  Heyliger 435***- 

The  Storm-Ship 487 

The  Wedding 524 

P Author’s  Farewell  . ......  536 


THE  AUTHOR. 

ORTHY  READER  : — On  again  taking 
pen  in  hand,  I would  fain  make  a few 
observations  at  the  outset,  by  way  of  be- 
speaking a right  understanding.  The  vol- 
umes which  I have  already  published  have  met  with 
a reception  far  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expecta- 
tions. I would  willingly  attribute  this  to  their  in- 
trinsic merits  ; but,  in  spite  of  the  vanity  of  author- 
ship, I cannot  but  be  sensible  that  their  success  has, 
in  a great  measure,  been  owing  to  a less  flattering 
cause.  It  has  been  a matter  of  marvel,  to  my  Euro- 
pean readers,  that  a man  from  the  wilds  of  America 
should  express  himself  in  tolerable  English.  I was 
looked  upon  as  something  new  and  strange  in  litera- 
ture ; a kind  of  demi-savage,  with  a feather  in  his 
hand  instead  of  on  his  head ; and  there  was  a curi- 
osity to  hear  what  such  a being  had  to  say  about 
civilized  society. 

This  novelty  is  now  at  an  end,  and  of  course  the 
feeling  of  indulgence  which  it  produced.  I must 
now  expect  to  bear  the  scrutiny  of  sterner  criticisms, 
and  to  be  measured  by  the  same  standard  as  con- 
temporary writers  ; and  the  very  favor  shown  to  my 
previous  writings  will  cause  these  to  be  treated  with 
the  greatest  rigor,  as  there  is  nothing  for  which  the 
world  is  apt  to  punish  a man  more  severely  than  for 
having  been  over-praised  On  this  head,  therefore, 


8 


THE  AUTHOR . 


I wish  to  forestall  the  censoriousness  of  the  reader  ; 
and  I entreat  he  will  not  think  the  worse  of  me  for 
the  many  injudicious  things  that  may  have  been  said 
in  my  commendation. 

I am  aware  that  I often  travel  over  beaten  ground, 
and  treat  of  subjects  that  have  already  been  discussed 
by  abler  pens.  Indeed,  various  authors  have  been 
mentioned  as  my  models,  to  whom  I should  feel  flat- 
tered if  I thought  I bore  the  slightest  resemblance ; 
but  in  truth  I write  after  no  model  that  I am  con- 
scious of,  and  I write  with  no  idea  of  imitation  or 
competition.  In  venturing  occasionally  on  topics 
that  have  already  been  almost  exhausted  by  English 
authors,  I do  it,  not  with  the  presumption  of  chal- 
lenging a comparison,  but  with  the  hope  that  some 
new  interest  may  be  given  to  such  topics,  when  dis- 
cussed by  the  pen  of  a stranger. 

If,  therefore,  I should  sometimes  be  found  dwell- 
ing with  fondness  on  subjects  trite  and  commonplace 
with  the  reader,  I beg  the  circumstances  under  which 
I write  may  be  kept  in  recollection.  Having  been 
born  and  brought  up  in  a new  country,  yet  educated 
from  infancy  in  the  literature  of  an  old  one,  my 
mind  was  early  filled  with  historical  and  poetical 
associations,  connected  with  places,  and  manners, 
and  customs  of  Europe,  but  which  could  rarely  be 
applied  to  those  of  my  own  country.  To  a mind 
thus  peculiarly  prepared,  the  most  ordinary  objects 
and  scenes,  on  arriving  in  Europe,  are  full  of  strange 
matter  and  interesting  novelty.  England  is  as  clas- 
sic ground  to  an  American,  as  Italy  is  to  an  English- 
man ; and  old  London  teems  with  as  much  historical 
association  as  mighty  Home. 

Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  describe  the  whimsical 
medley  of  ideas  that  throng  upon  his  mind  on  land- 
ing among  English  scenes.  He  for  the  first  time 


THE  AUTHOR . 


9 


gees  a world  about  which  he  has  been  reading  and 
thinking  in  every  stage  of  his  existence.  The  recol- 
lected ideas  of  infancy,  youth,  and  manhood,  of  the 
nursery,  the  school,  and  the  study,  come  swarming 
at  once  upon  him : and  his  attention  is  distracted 
between  great  and  little  objects,  each  of  which,  per- 
haps, awakens  an  equally  delightful  train  of  remem- 
brances. 

But  what  more  especially  attracts  his  notice,  are 
those  peculiarities  which  distinguish  an  old  country 
and  an  old  state  of  society  from  a new  one.  I have 
never  yet  grown  familiar  enough  with  the  crumbling 
monuments  of  past  ages,  to  blunt  the  intense  inter- 
est with  which  I at  first  beheld  them.  Accustomed 
always  to  scenes  where  history  was,  in  a manner, 
anticipation  ; where  everything  in  art  was  new  and 
progressive,  and  pointed  to  the  future  rather  than  to 
the  past ; where,  in  short,  the  works  of  man  gave 
no  ideas  but  those  of  young  existence  and  prospec- 
tive improvement ; there  was  something  inexpressibly 
touching  in  the  sight  of  enormous  piles  of  architec- 
ture, gray  with  antiquity,  and  sinking  to  decay.  I 
cannot  describe  the  mute  but  deep-felt  enthusiasm 
with  which  I have  contemplated  a vast  monastic 
ruin,  like  Tintern  Abbey,  buried  in  the  bosom  of  a 
quiet  valley,  and  shut  up  from  the  world,  as  though 
it  had  existed  merely  for  itself ; or  a warrior  pile, 
like  Conway  Castle,  standing  in  stern  loneliness  on 
its  rocky  height,  a mere  hollow  yet  threatening 
phantom  of  departed  power.  They  spread  a grand, 
and  melancholy,  and,  to  me,  an  unusual  charm  over 
the  landscape  ; I for  the  first  time  beheld  signs  of 
national  old  age,  and  empire's  decay,  and  proofs  of 
the  transient  and  perishing  glories  of  art,  amidst  the 
ever-springing  and  reviving  fertility  of  nature. 

But,  in  fact,  to  me  everything  was  full  of  matter , 


10 


THE  AUTHOR . 


the  footsteps  of  history  were  everywhere  to  be  traced 
and  poetry  had  breathed  over  and  sanctified  the  land, 
I experienced  the  delightful  freshness  of  feeling  of  a 
child  to  whom  everything  is  new.  I pictured  to  my- 
self a set  of  inhabitants  and  a mode  of  life  for  every 
habitation  that  I saw,  from  the  aristocratical  man- 
sion, amidst  the  lordly  repose  of  stately  groves  and 
solitary  parks,  to  the  straw-thatched  cottage,  with 
its  scanty  garden  and  its  cherished  woodbine.  I 
thought  I never  could  be  sated  with  the  sweetness 
and  freshness  of  a country  so  completely  carpeted 
with  verdure ; where  every  air  breathed  of  the 
balmy  pasture,  and  the  honeysuckled  hedge.  I was 
continually  coming  upon  some  little  document  of 
poetry  in  the  blossomed  hawthorn,  the  daisy,  the 
cowslip,  the  primrose,  or  some  other  simple  object 
that  has  received  a supernatural  value  from  the  muse. 
The  first  time  that  I heard  the  song  of  the  nightin- 
gale, I was  intoxicated  more  by  the  delicious  crowd 
of  remembered  associations  than  by  the  melody  of 
its  notes ; and  I shall  never  forget  the  thrill  of  ec- 
stasy with  which  I first  saw  the  lark  rise,  almost 
from  beneath  my  feet,  and  wing  its  musical  flight 
up  into  the  morning  sky. 

In  this  way  I traversed  England,  ‘a  grown-up 
child,  delighted  by  every  object,  great  and  small ; 
and  betraying  a wondering  ignorance,  and  simple 
enjoyment,  that  provoked  many  a stare  and  a smile 
from  my  wiser  and  more  experienced  fellow-travel- 
lers. Such  too  was  the  odd  confusion  of  associations 
that  kept  breaking  upon  me  as  I first  approached 
London.  One  of  my  earliest  wishes  had  been  to 
see  this  great  metropolis.  I had  read  so  much  about 
<t  in  the  earliest  books  put  into  my  infant  hands  ; 
and  I had  heard  so  much  about  it  from  those  around 
me  who  had  come  from  the  “ old  countries/'  that  ] 


THE  AUTHOR. 


11 


was  familiar  with  the  names  of  its  streets  and  squares, 
and  public  places,  before  I knew  those  of  my  native 
city.  It  was,  to  me,  the  great  centre  of  the  worlds 
round  which  everything  seemed  to  revolve.  I rec- 
ollect contemplating  so  wistfully,  when  a boy,  a pal- 
try little  print  of  the  Thames,  and  London  Bridge, 
and  St.  Paul's,  that  was  in  front  of  an  old  magazine  ; 
and  a picture  of  Kensington  Gardens,  with  gentle- 
men in  three-cornered  hats  and  broad  skirts,  and 
ladies  in  hoops  and  lappets,  that  hung  up  in  my 
bedroom;  even  the  venerable  cut  of  St.  John’s 
Gate,  that  has  stood,  time  out  of  mind,  in  front  of 
the  Gentleman’s  Magazine,  was  not  without  its 
charms  to  me ; and  I envied  the  odd-looking  little 
men  that  appeared  to  be  loitering  about  its  arches. 

How  then  did  my  heart  warm  when  the  towers 
of  Westminster  Abbey  were  pointed  out  to  me,  ris- 
ing above  the  rich  groves  of  St.  James’s  Park,  with 
a thin  blue  haze  above  their  gray  pinnacles  1 I 
could  not  behold  this  great  mausoleum  of  what  is 
most  illustrious  in  our  paternal  history,  without  feel- 
ing my  enthusiasm  in  a glow.  With  what  eager- 
ness did  I explore  every  part  of  the  metropolis ! I 
was  not  content  with  those  matters  which  occupy 
the  dignified  -research  of  the  learned  traveller ; I 
delighted  to  call  up  all  the  feelings  of  childhood, 
and  to  seek  after  those  objects  which  had  been  the 
wonders  of  my  infancy.  London  Bridge,  so  famous 
in  nursery  song;  the  far-famed  monument;  Gog  and 
Magog,  and  the  Lions  in  the  Tower,  — all  brought 
back  many  a recollection  of  infantine  delight,  and 
of  good  old  beings,  now  no  more,  who  had  gossiped 
about  them  to  my  wondering  ear.  Nor  was  it 
without  a recurrence  of  childish  interest  that  I first 
peeped  into  Mr.  Newberry’s  shop,  in  St.  Paul’s 
Church-yard,  that  fountain-head  of  literature  Mr. 


12 


TFIE  AUTHOR. 


Newberry  was  the  first  that  ever  filled  my  infant 
mind  with  the  idea  of  a great  and  good  man.  He 
published  all  the  picture-books  of  the  day ; and,  out 
of  his  abundant  love  for  children,  he  charged  “ noth- 
ing for  either  paper  or  print,  and  only  a penny-half- 
penny for  the  binding  ! ” 

I have  mentioned  these  circumstances,  worthy 
reader,  to  show  you  the  whimsical  crowd  of  associa 
tions  that  are  apt  to  beset  my  mind  on  mingling 
among  English  scenes.  I hope  they  may,  in  some 
measure,  plead  my  apology,  should  I be  found  harp- 
ing upon  stale  and  trivial  themes,  or  indulging  an 
over-fondness  for  anything  antique  and  obsolete.  I 
know  it  is  the  humor,  not  to  say  cant  of  the  day,  to 
run  riot  about  old  times,  old  books,  old  customs,  and 
old  buildings  ; with  myself,  however,  as  far  as  I have 
caught  the  contagion,  the  feeling  is  genuine.  To  a 
man  from  a young  country,  all  old  things  are  in  a 
manner  new  ; and  he  may  surely  be  excused  in  being 
a little  curious  about  antiquities,  whose  native  land, 
unfortunately,  cannot  boast  of  a single  ruin. 

Having  been  brought  up,  also,  in  the  comparative 
simplicity  of  a republic,  I am  apt  to  be  struck  with 
even  the  ordinary  circumstances  incident  to  an  aris- 
tocratical  state  of  society.  If,  however,  I should  at 
any  time  amuse  myself  by  pointing  out  some  of  the 
eccentricities,  and  some  of  the  poetical  characteris- 
tics of  the  latter,  I would  not  be  understood  as  pre- 
tending to  decide  upon  its  political  merits.  My  only 
aim  is  to  paint  characters  and  manners.  I am  no 
politician.  The  more  I have  considered  the  study 
of  politics,  the  more  I have  found  it  full  of  perplex- 
ity ; and  I have  contented  myself,  as  I have  in  my 
religion,  with  the  faith  in  which  I was  brought  up, 
regulating  my  own  conduct  by  its  precepts,  but 
leaving  to  abler  heads  the  task  of  making  converts 


THE  AUTHOR. 


13 


I shall  continue  on,  therefore,  in  the  course  I have 
hitherto  pursued ; looking  at  things  poetically,  rather 
than  politically ; describing  them  as  they  are,  rather 
than  pretending  to  point  out  how  they  should  be  ; 
and  endeavoring  to  see  the  world  in  as  pleasant  a 
light  as  circumstances  will  permit. 

I have  always  had  an  opinion  that  much  good 
might  be  done  by  keeping  mankind  in  good  humor 
with  one  another.  I may  be  wrong  in  my  philoso- 
phy, but  I shall  continue  to  practise  it  until  con- 
vinced of  its  fallacy.  When  I discover  the  world 
to  be  all  that  it  has  been  represented  by  sneering 
cynics  and  whining  poets,  I will  turn  to  and  abuse 
it  also ; in  the  meanwhile,  worthy  reader,  I hope 
you  will  not  think  lightly  of  me,  because  I cannot 
believe  this  to  be  so  very  bad  a world  as  it  is  rep- 
resented. 


Thine  truly, 


GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 


THE  HALL. 

The  ancientest  house,  and  the  best  for  housekeeping,  in  this 
county  or  the  next ; and  though  the  master  of  it  write  but  squire,  1 
know  no  lord  like  him.  — Merry  Beggars. 

HE  reader,  if  he  has  perused  the  volumes 
of  the  “ Sketch-Book”  will  probably  rec- 
ollect something  of  the  Bracebridge  fam- 
ily, with  which  I once  passed  a Christmas.  I am 
now  on  another  visit  at  the  Hall,  having  been  in- 
vited to  a wedding  which  is  shortly  to  take  place. 
The  Squire’s  second  son,  Guy,  a fine,  spirited 
young  captain  in  the  army,  is  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  his  father’s  ward,  the  fair  Juba  Templeton. 
A gathering  of  relations  and  friends  has  already 
commenced,  to  celebrate  the  joyful  occasion  ; for 
the  old  gentleman  is  an  enemy  to  quiet,  private 
weddings.  u There  is  nothing,”  he  says,  “ like 
launching  a young  couple  gayly,  and  cheering 
them  from  the  shore  ; a good  outset  is  half  the 
voyage.” 

Before  proceeding  any  farther,  I would  beg 
that  the  Squire  might  not  be  confounded  with  that 
class  of  hard-riding,  fox-hunting  gentlemen,  so 
often  described,  and,  in  fact,  so  nearly  extinct  in 
England.  I use  this  rural  title  partly  because  it 
is  his  universal  appellation  throughout  the  neigh 


THE  HALL. 


15 


borhood,  and  partly  because  it  saves  me  the  fre- 
quent repetition  of  his  name,  which  is  one  of 
those  rough  old  English  names  at  which  French- 
men exclaim  in  despair. 

The  Squire  is,  in  fact,  a lingering  specimen  of 
the  old  English  country  gentleman ; rusticated  a 
little  by  living  almost  entirely  on  his  estate,  and 
something  of  a humorist,  as  Englishmen  are  apt 
to  become  when  they  have  an  opportunity  of  liv- 
ing in  their  own  way.  I like  his  hobby  passing 
well,  however,  which  is,  a bigoted  devotion  to  old 
English  manners  and  customs  ; it  jumps  a little 
with  my  own  humor,  having  as  yet  a lively  and 
unsated  curiosity  about  the  ancient  and  genuine 
characteristics  of  my  “ father-land.” 

There  are  some  traits  about  the  Squire’s  fam- 
ily, also,  which  appear  to  me  to  be  national.  It 
is  one  of  those  old  aristocratical  families  which, 
I believe,  are  peculiar  to  England,  and  scarcely 
understood  in  other  countries  ; that  is  to  say,  fam- 
ilies of  the  ancient  gentry,  who,  though  destitute 
of  titled  rank,  maintain  a high  ancestral  pride  : 
who  look  down  upon  all  nobility  of  recent  crea- 
tion, and  would  consider  it  a sacrifice  of  dignity 
to  merge  the  venerable  name  of  their  house  in  a 
modern  title. 

This  feeling  is  very  much  fostered  by  the  im- 
portance which  they  enjoy  on  their  hereditary  do- 
mains. The  family  mansion  is  an  old  manor- 
house,  standing  in  a retired  and  beautiful  part  of 
Yorkshire.  Its  inhabitants  have  been  always  re- 
garded, through  the  surrounding  country,  as  “ the 
great  ones  of  the  earth  ” ; and  the  little  village 


16 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


near  the  Hall  looks  up  to  the  Squire  with  almost 
feudal  homage.  An  old  manor-house,  and  an  old 
family  of  this  kind,  are  rarely  to  be  met  with  at 
the  present  day  ; and  it  is  probably  the  pecu- 
liar humor  of  the  Squire  that  has  retained  this 
secluded  specimen  of  English  housekeeping  in 
something  like  the  genuine  old  style. 

I am  again  quartered  in  the  panelled  chamber, 
in  the  antique  wing  of  the  house.  The  prospect 
from  my  window,  however,  has  quite  a different 
aspect  from  that  which  it  wore  on  my  winter  visit. 
Though  early  in  the  month  of  April,  yet  a few 
warm,  sunshiny  days  have  drawn  forth  the  beau- 
ties of  the  spring,  which,  I think,  are  always  most 
captivating  on  their  first  opening.  The  parterres 
of  the  old-fashioned  garden  are  gay  with  flowers ; 
and  the  gardener  has  brought  out  his  exotics,  and 
placed  them  along  the  stone  balustrades.  The 
trees  are  clothed  with  green  buds  and  tender 
leaves.  When  I throw  open  my  jingling  case- 
ment, I smell  the  odor  of  mignonette,  and  hear  the 
hum  of  the  bees  from  the  flowers  against  the 
sunny  wall,  with  the  varied  song  of  the  throstle, 
and  the  cheerful  notes  of  the  tuneful  little  wren. 

While  sojourning  in  this  stronghold  of  old 
fashions,  it  is  my  intention  to  make  occasional 
sketches  of  the  scenes  and  characters  before  me. 
I would  have  it  understood,  however,  that  I am 
not  writing  a novel,  and  have  nothing  of  intricate 
plot  nor  marvellous  adventure  to  promise  the 
reader.  The  Hall  of  which  I treat  has,  for  aught 
l know,  neither  trap-door,  nor  sliding-panel,  nor 
lonjon-keep  ; and  indeed  appears  to  have  no  mys- 


THE  HALL. 


17 


tery  about  it.  The  family  is  a worthy,  well- 
meaning  family,  that,  in  all  probability,  will  eat 
and  drink,  and  go  to  bed,  and  get  up  regularly, 
from  one  end  of  my  work  to  the  other  ; and  the 
Squire  is  so  kind-hearted,  that  I see  no  likelihood 
of  his  throwing  any  kind  of  distress  in  the  way 
of  the  approaching  nuptials.  In  a word,  I cannot 
foresee  a single  extraordinary  event  that  is  likely 
to  occur  in  the  whole  term  of  my  sojourn  at  the 
Hall 

I tell  this  honestly  to  the  reader,  lest,  when  he 
finds  me  dallying  along,  through  every-day  Eng- 
lish scenes,  he  may  hurry  ahead,  in  hopes  of 
meeting  with  some  marvellous  adventure  further 
on.  I invite  him,  on  the  contrary,  to  ramble  gen- 
tly on  with  me,  as  he  would  saunter  out  into  the 
fields,  stopping  occasionally  to  gather  a flower,  or 
listen  to  a bird,  or  admire  a prospect,  without 
any  anxiety  to  arrive  at  the  end  of  his  career. 
Should  I,  however,  in  the  course  of  my  wander- 
ings about  this  old  mansion,  see  or  hear  anything 
curious,  that  might  serve  to  vary  the  monotony 
of  this  every-day  life,  I shall  not  fail  to  reoort  it 
for  the  reader’s  ^entertainment : 

For  freshest  wits  I know  will  soon  be  wearie, 

Of  any  book,  how  grave  soe’er  it  be, 

Except  it  have  odd  matter,  strange  and  merrie, 

Well  sauc'd  with  lies,  and  glared  all  with  glee.* 


* Mirror  for  Magistrates. 


THE  BUSY  MAN. 

A decayed  gentleman,  who  lives  most  upon  his  own  mirth  and  my 
master’s  means,  and  much  good  do  him  with  it.  He  does  hold  my 
master  up  with  his  stories,  and  songs,  and  catches,  and  such  tricks 
and  jigs,  you  would  admire  — he  is  with  him  now.  — Jovial  Crew. 

Y no  one  has  my  return  to  the  Hall 
been  more  heartily  greeted  than  by  Mr. 
Simon  Bracebridge,  or  Master  Simon, 
as  the  Squire  most  commonly  calls  him.  1 en- 
countered him  just  as  I entered  the  park,  where 
he  was  breaking  a pointer,  and  he  received  me 
with  all  the  hospitable  cordiality  with  which  a 
man  welcomes  a friend  to  another  one’s  house. 
I have  already  introduced  him  to  the  reader  as  a 
brisk  old  bachelor-looking  little  man  ; the  wit  and 
superannuated  beau  of  a large  family  connection, 
and  the  Squire’s  factotum.  I*  found  him,  as 
usual,  full  of  bustle  ; with  a thousand  petty  things 
to  do,  and  persons  to  attend  to,  and  in  chirping 
good  - humor ; for  there  are  few  happier  beings 
(hail  a busy  idler,  that  is  to  say,  a man  who  is 
eternally  busy  about  nothing. 

I visited  him,  the  morning  after  my  arrival,  in 
his  chamber,  which  is  in  a remote  corner  of  the 
mansion,  as  he  says  he  likes  to  be  to  limseit,  and 
out  of  the  way.  He  has  fitted  it  up  i u ln.->  own 


TEE  BUSY  MAN. 


19 


taste,  so  that  it  is  a perfect  epitome  of  an  old 
bachelor’s  notions  of  convenience  and  arrangement. 
The  furniture  is  made  up  of  odd  pieces  from  all 
parts  of  the  house,  chosen  on  account  of  their  suit- 
ing his  notions,  or  fitting  some  corner  of  his  apart- 
ment ; and  he  is  very  eloquent  in  praise  of  an 
ancient  elbow-chair,  from  which  he  takes  occasion 
to  digress  into  a censure  on  modern  chairs,  as 
having  degenerated  from  the  dignity  and  comfort 
of  high-backed  antiquity. 

Adjoining  to  his  room  is  a small  cabinet,  which 
he  calls  his  study.  Here  are  some  hanging 
shelves,  of  his  own  construction,  on  which  are 
several  old  works  on  hawking,  hunting,  and  far- 
riery, and  a collection  or  two  of  poems  and  songs 
of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  which  he  studies  out 
of  compliment  to  the  Squire ; together  with  the 
Novelist’s  Magazine,  the  Sporting  Magazine,  the 
Racing  Calendar,  a volume  or  two  of  the  New- 
gate Calendar,  a book  of  peerage,  and  another  of 
heraldry. 

His  sporting  dresses  hang  on  pegs  in  a small 
closet ; and  about  the  walls  of  his  apartment  are 
hooks  to  hold  his  fishing-tackle,  whips,  spurs,  and 
a favorite  fowling-piece,  curiously  wrought  and 
inlaid,  which  he  inherits  from  his  grandfather. 
He  has,  also,  a couple  of  old  single-keyed  flutes, 
and  a fiddle  which  he  has  repeatedly  patched  and 
mended  himself,  affirming  it  to  be  a veritable 
Cremona  ; though  I have  never  heard  him  ex- 
tract a single  note  from  it  that  was  not  enough  to 
make  one’s  blood  run  cold. 

From  this  little  nest  his  fiddle  will  often  be 


20 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


heard,  in  the  stillness  of  mid-day,  drowsily  sawing 
some  long-forgotten  tune ; for  he  prides  himself 
on  having  a choice  collection  of  good  old  Eng- 
lish music,  and  will  scarcely  have  anything  to  do 
with  modern  composers.  The  time,  however,  at 
which  his  musical  powers  are  of  most  use,  is  now 
and  then  of  an  evening,  when  he  plays  for  the 
children  to  dance  in  the  hall ; and  he  passes  among 
them  and  the  servants  for  a perfect  Orpheus. 

His  chamber  also  bears  evidence  of  his  vari- 
ous avocations : there  are  half-copied  sheets  of 
music ; designs  for  needle- work ; sketches  of 
landscapes,  very  indifferently  executed  ; a camera 
lucida  ; a magic  lantern,  for  which  he  is  endeav- 
oring to  paint  glasses ; in  a word,  it  is  the  cabi- 
net of  a man  of  many  accomplishments,  who 
knows  a little  of  everything,  and  does  nothing 
well. 

After  I had  spent  some  time  in  his  apartment, 
admiring  the  ingenuity  of  his  small  inventions, 
he  took  me  about  the  establishment,  to  visit  the 
stables,  dog-kennel,  and  other  dependencies,  in 
which  he  appeared  like  a general  visiting  the  dif- 
ferent quarters  of  his  camp  ; as  the  Squire  leaves 
the  control  of  all  these  matters  to  him,  when  he 
is  at  the  Hall.  He  inquired  into  the  state  of  the 
horses  ; examined  their  feet ; prescribed  a drench 
for  one,  and  bleeding  for  another  ; and  then  took 
me  to  look  at  his  own  horse,  on  the  merits  of 
which  he  dwelt  with  great  prolixity,  and  which, 
I noticed,  had  the  best  stall  in  the  stable. 

After  this  I was  taken  to  a new  toy  of  his  and 
the  Squire’s,  which  he  termed  the  falconry,  where 


THE  BUSY  MAN. 


21 


there  were  several  unhappy  birds  in  durance,  com- 
pleting their  education.  Among  the  number  was 
a fine  falcon,  which  Master  Simon  had  in  espe- 
cial training,  and  he  told  me  that  he  would  show 
me,  in  a few  days,  some  rare  sport  of  the  good 
old-fashioned  kind.  In  the  course  of  our  round, 
I noticed  that  the  grooms,  gamekeeper,  whippers- 
in,  and  other  retainers,  seemed  all  to  be  on  some- 
what of  a familiar  footing  with  Master  Simon, 
and  fond  of  having  a joke  with  him,  though  it 
was  evident  they  had  great  deference  for  his 
opinion  in  matters  relating  to  their  functions. 

There  was  one  exception,  however,  in  a testy 
old  huntsman,  as  hot  as  a pepper-corn  ; a meagre, 
wiry  old  fellow,  in  a threadbare  velvet  jockey- 
cap,  and  a pair  of  leather  breeches,  that,  from 
much  wear,  shone  as  though  they  had  been  ja- 
panned. He  was  very  contradictory  and  pragmat- 
ical, and  apt,  as  I thought,  to  differ  from  Master 
Simon  now  and  then,  out  of  mere  captiousness. 
This  was  particularly  the  case  with  respect  to 
the  treatment  of  the  hawk,  which  the  old  man 
seemed  to  have  under  his  peculiar  care,  and,  ac- 
cording to  Master  Simon,  was  in  a fair  way  to 
ruin  : the  latter  had  a vast  deal  to  say  about 
casting , and  imping , and  gleaming , and  enseaming , 
and  giving  the  hawk  the  rangle , which  I saw  was 
all  heathen  Greek  to  old  Christy  ; but  he  main- 
tained his  point  notwithstanding,  and  seemed  to 
hold  all  this  technical  lore  in  utter  disrespect. 

I was  surprised  at  the  good-humor  with  which 
Master  Simon  bore  his  contradictions,  till  he  ex- 
plained the  matter  to  me  afterwards.  Old 


22 


BRACE-BRIDGE  HALL. 


Christy  is  the  most  ancient  servant  in  thb  place, 
having  lived  among  dogs  and  horses  the  greater 
part  of  a century,  and  been  in  the  service  of  Mr 
Bracebridge’s  father.  He  knows  the  pedigree 
of  every  horse  on  the  place,  and  has  bestrode  the 
great-great-grandsires  of  most  of  them.  He  can 
give  a circumstantial  detail  of  every  fox-hunt  for 
the  last  sixty  or  seventy  years,  and  has  a history 
for  every  stag’s  head  about  the  house,  and  every 
hunting-trophy  nailed  to  the  door  of  the  dog 
kennel. 

All  the  present  race  have  grown  up  under  his 
eye,  and  humor  him  in  his  old  age.  He  once 
attended  the  Squire  to  Oxford,  when  he  was 
student  there,  and  enlightened  the  whole  univer- 
sity with  his  hunting-lore.  All  this  is  enough  to 
make  the  old  man  opinionated,  since  he  finds,  on 
all  these  matters  of  first-rate  importance,  he  knows 
more  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  Indeed,  Master 
Simon  had  been  his  pupil,  and  acknowledges  that 
he  derived  his  first  knowledge  in  hunting  rrom 
the  instructions  of  Christy ; and  I much  question 
whether  the  old  man  does  not  still  look  upon  him 
as  rather  a greenhorn. 

On  our  return  homewards,  as  we  were  crossing 
the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  we  heard  the  por- 
ter’s bell  ring  at  the  lodge,  and  shortly  afterwards 
a kind  of  cavalcade  advanced  slowly  up  the  ave- 
nue. At  sight  of  it  my  companion  paused,  con- 
sidered it  for  a moment,  and  then,  making  a sud- 
den exclamation,  hurried  away  to  meet  it.  As 
it  approached  I discovered  a fair,  fresh  - looking 
elderly  lady,  dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  xiding- 


THE  BUSY  MAN. 


28 


habit,  with  a broad-brimmed  white  beaver  hat 
such  as  may  be  seen  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s 
paintings.  She  rode  a sleek  white  pony,  and  was 
followed  by  a footman  in  rich  livery,  mounted  on 
an  over-fed  hunter.  At  a "little  distance  in  the 
rear  came  an  ancient  cumbrous  chafiot  drawn  by 
two  very  corpulent  horses,  driven  by  as  corpu- 
lent a coachman,  beside  whom  sat  a page  dressed 
in  a fanciful  ‘green  livery.  Inside  of  the  chariot 
was  a starched  prim  personage,  with  a look  some- 
what between  a lady’s  companion  and  a lady’s 
maid,  and  two  pampered  curs,  that  showed  their 
ugly  faces,  and  barked  out  of  each  window. 

There  was  a general  turning  out  of  the  garn 
son  to  receive  this  new-comer.  The  Squire  as- 
sisted her  to  alight,  and  saluted  her  affectionately ; 
the  fair  Julia  flew  into  her  arms,  and  they  em- 
braced with  the  romantic  fervor  of  boarding- 
school  friends  : she  was  escorted  into  the  house 
by  Julia’s  lover,  towards  whom  she  showed  dis- 
tinguished favor ; and  a line  of  the  old  servants, 
who  had  collected  in  the  Hall,  bowed  most  pro- 
foundly as  she  passed. 

I observed  that  Master  Simon  was  most  assid- 
uous and  devout  in  his  attentions  upon  this  old 
lady.  He  walked  by  the  side  of  her  pony  up 
the  avenue  ; and,  while  she  was  receiving  the 
salutations  of  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  took  occa- 
sion to  notice  the  fat  coachman ; to  pat  the 
sleek  carriage-horses,  and,  above  all,  to  say  a 
sivil  word  to  my  lady’s  gentlewoman,  the  prim, 
sour-looking  vestal  in  the  chariot. 

I had  no  more  of  his  company  for  the  rest  of 


24 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  UALL. 


the  morning.  He  was  swept  off  in  the  vortex 
that  followed  in  the  wake  of  this  lady.  Once 
indeed  he  paused  for  a moment,  as  he  was  hurry- 
ing on  some  errand  of  the  good  lady’s,  to  let  me 
know  that  this  was  Lady  Lilly  craft,  a sister  of 
the  Squire’s,  of  large  fortune,  which  the  captain 
would  inherit,  and  that  her  estate  lay  in  one  of 
the  best  sporting  counties  in  all  England. 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 

Verily  old  servants  are  the  vouchers  of  worthy  housekeeping. 
They  are  like  rats  in  a mansion,  or  mites  in  a cheese,  bespeaking  the 
antiquity  and  fatness  of  their  abode. 


SKjfjffliN  my  casual  anecdotes  of  the  Hall,  I 
gguj  may  often  be  tempted  to  dwell  upon  cir- 
cumstances  of  a trite  and  ordinary  na- 
ture, from  their  appearing  to  me  illustrative  of 
genuine  national  character.  It  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  study  of  the  Squire  to  adhere,  as  much  as 
possible,  to  what  he  considers  the  old  landmarks 
of  English  manners.  His  servants  all  understand 
his  ways,  and  for  the  most  part  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  them  from  infancy ; so  that,  upon  the 
whole,  his  household  presents  one  of  the  few  toh 
erable  specimens  that  can  now  be  met  with,  of 
the  establishment  of  an  English  country  gentle- 
man of  the  old  school. 

By  the  by,  the  servants  are  not  the  least  char- 
acteristic part  of  the  household : the  housekeeper, 
for  instance,  has  been  born  and  brought  up  at  the 
Hall,  and  has  never  been  twenty  miles  from  it ; 
yet  she  has  a stately  air  that  would  not  disgrace 
a lady  that  had  figured  at  the  court  of  Queen 
Elizabeth. 


26 


BRA CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


I am  half  inclined  to  think  she  has  caught  it 
fiom  living  so  much  among  the  old  family  pic- 
tures. It  may,  however,  be  owing  to  a conscious- 
ness of  her  importance  in  the  sphere  in  which 
she  has  always  moved  ; for  she  is  greatly  re- 
spected in  the  neighboring  village,  and  among 
the  farmers’  wives,  and  has  high  authority  in  the 
household,  ruling  over  the  servants  with  quiet 
but  undisputed  sway. 

She  is  a thin  old  lady,  with  blue  eyes  and 
pointed  nose  and  chin.  Her  dress  is  always  the 
same  as  to  fashion.  She  wears  a small,  well- 
starched  ruff,  a laced  stomacher,  full  petticoats, 
and  a gown  festooned  and  open  in  front,  which, 
on  particular  occasions,  is  of  ancient  silk,  the 
legacy  of  some  former  dame  of  the  family,  or  an 
inheritance  from  her  mother,  who  was  house- 
keeper  before  her.  I have  a reverence  for  these 
old  garments,  as  I make  no  doubt  they  have 
figured  about  these  apartments  in  days  long  past, 
when  they  have  set  off  the  charms  of  some  peer- 
less family  beauty  ; and  I have  sometimes  looked 
from  the  old  housekeeper  to  the  neighboring  por 
traits,  to  see  whether  I could  not  recognize  her 
antiquated  brocade  in  the  dress  of  some  one  of 
those  long-waisted  dames  that  smile  on  me  from 
the  walls. 

Her  hair,  which  is  quite  white,  is  frizzed  out 
in  front,  and  she  wears  over  it  a small  cap,  nicely 
plaited,  and  brought  down  under  the  chin.  Her 
manners  are  simple  and  primitive,  heightened  a 
little  by  a proper  dignity  of  station. 

The  Hall  is  her  world,  and  the  history  of  the 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 


27 


family  the  only  history  she  knows,  excepting  that 
which  she  has  read  in  the  Bible.  She  can  give 
a biography  of  every  portrait  in  the  picture  gal- 
lery, and  is  a complete  family  chronicle. 

She  is  treated  with  great  consideration  by  the 
Squire.  Indeed,  Master  Simon  tells  me  that 
there  is  a traditional  anecdote  current  among  the 
servants,  of  the  Squire’s  having  been  seen  kissing 
her  in  the  picture  gallery,  when  they  were  both 
young.  As,  however,  nothing  further  was  ever 
noticed  between  them,  the  circumstance  caused 
no  great  scandal ; only  she  was  observed  to  take 
to  reading  Pamela  shortly  afterwards,  and  refused 
the  hand  of  the  village  innkeeper,  whom  she  had 
previously  smiled  on. 

- The  old  butler,  who  was  formerly  rbotman,  and 
a rejected  admirer  of  hers,  used  to  tcil  the  anec- 
dote now  and  then,  at  those  little  cabals  which 
will  occasionally  take  place  among  the  most 
orderly  servants,  arising  from  the  common  pro- 
pensity of  the  governed  to  talk  against  adminis- 
tration ; but  he  has  left  it  off,  of  late  years,  since 
he  has  risen  into  place,  and  shakes  his  head  re- 
bukingly  when  it  is  mentioned. 

It  is  certain  that  the  old  lady  will,  to  this  day, 
dwell  upon  the  looks  of  the  Squire  when  hv  was 
a young  man  at  college  ; and  she  maintains  that 
none  of  his  sons  can  compare  with  tneir  father 
when  he  was  of  their  age,  and  was  dreu&ed  out  in 
his  full  suit  of  scarlet,  with  his  hair  ^aped  and 
powdered,  and  his  three-cornered  hat. 

She  has  an  orphan  niece,  a pretty,  soft-hearted 
baggage,  named  Phoebe  Wilkins,  wyio  has  been 


28  • 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL. 


transplanted  to  the  Hall  within  a year  or  two,  and 
been  nearly  spoiled  for  any  condition  of  life.  She 
is  a kind  of  attendant  and  companion  of  the  fair 
Julia’s  ; and  from  loitering  about  the  young 
lady’s  apartments,  reading  scraps  of  novels,  and 
inheriting  second-hand  finery,  has  become  some- 
thing between  a waiting-maid  and  a slipshod  fine 
lady. 

She  is  considered  a kind  of  heiress  among  the 
servants,  as  she  will  inherit  all  her  aunt’s  prop- 
erty ; which,  if  report  be  true,  must  be  a round 
sum  of  good  golden  guineas,  the  accumulated 
wealth  of  two  housekeepers’  savings ; not  to 
mention  the  hereditary  wardrobe,  and  the  many 
little  valuables  and  knick-knacks  treasured  up  in 
the  housekeepers’  room.  Indeed,  the  old  house- 
keeper has  the  reputation  among  the  servants  and 
the  villagers  of  being  passing  rich ; and  there  is 
a japanned  chest  of  drawers  and  a large  iron- 
bound  coffer  in  her  room,  which  are  supposed,  by 
the  housemaids,  to  hold  treasures  of  wealth. 

The  old  lady  is  a great  friend  of  Master  Simon, 
who,  indeed,  pays  a little  court  to  her,  as  to  a 
person  high  in  authority;  and  they  have  many 
discussions  on  points  of  family  history,  in  which, 
notwithstanding  his  extensive  information  and 
pride  of  knowledge,  he  commonly  admits  her 
superior  accuracy.  He  seldom  returns  to  the 
Hall,  after  one  of  his  visits  to  the  other  branches 
of  the  family,  without  bringing  Mrs.  Wilkins 
some  remembrance  from  the  ladies  of  the  house 
where  he  has  been  staying. 

Indeed,  all  the  children  of  the  house  look  up 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 


29 


to  the  old  lady  with  habitual  respect  and  attach- 
ment, and  she  seems  almost  to  consider  them  aa 
her  own,  from  their  having  grown  up  under  her 
eye.  The  Oxonian,  however,  is  her  favorite, 
probably  from  being  the  youngest,  though  he  is 
the  most  mischievous,  and  has  been  apt  to  play 
tricks  upon  her  from  boyhood. 

I cannot  help  mentioning  one  little  ceremony, 
which,  I believe,  is  peculiar  to  the  Hall.  After 
the  cloth  is  removed  at  dinner,  the  old  house- 
keeper sails  into  the  room,  and  stands  behind  the 
Squire’s  chair,  when  he  fills  her  a glass  of  wine 
with  his  own  hands,  in  which  she  drinks  the 
health  of  tiie  company  in  a truly  respectful  yet 
dignified  manner,  and  then  retires.  The  Squire 
received  the  custom  from  his  father,  and  has 
always  continued  it. 

There  is  a peculiar  character  about  the  servants 
of  old  English  families,  that  reside  principally  in 
the  country.  They  have  a quiet,  orderly,  re- 
spectful mode  of  doing  their  duties.  They  are 
always  neat  in  their  persons,  and  appropriately, 
and,  if  I may  use  the  phrase,  technically  dressed ; 
they  move  about  the  house  without  hurry  or 
noise ; there  is  nothing  of  the  bustle  of  employ- 
ment, or  the  voice  of  command ; nothing  of  that 
obtrusive  housewifery  which  amounts  to  a tor- 
ment. You  are  not  persecuted  by  the  process  of 
making  you  comfortable ; yet  everything  is  done, 
and  is  done  well.  The  work  of  the  house  is  per- 
formed as  if  by  magic,  but  it  is  the  magic  of 
system.  Nothing  is  done  by  fits  and  starts,  nor 
it  awkward  seasons ; the  whole  goes  on  like 


30 


BRA  CEBRJDGE  HALL . 


well-oiled  clock-work,  where  there  is  no  noise 
nor  jarring  in  its  operations. 

English  servants,  in  general,  are  not  treated 
with  great  indulgence,  nor  rewarded  by  many 
commendations  ; for  the  English  are  laconic  and 
reserved  toward  their  domestics ; but  an  approv- 
ing nod  and  a kind  word  from  master  or  mistress 
goes  as  far  here  as  an  excess  of  praise  or  indul- 
gence elsewhere.  Neither  do  servants  often  ex- 
hibit any  animated  marks  of  affection  to  their 
employers ; yet,  though  quiet,  they  are  strong  in 
their  attachments  ; and  the  reciprocal  regard  of 
masters  and  servants,  though  not  ardently  ex- 
pressed, is  powerful  and  lasting  in  old  English 
families. 

The  title  of  “ an  old  family  servant  ” carries 
with  it  a thousand  kind  associations,  in  all  parts  of 
the  world ; and  there  is  no  claim  upon  the  home- 
bred charities  of  the  heart  more  irresistible  than 
that  of  having  been  “ born  in  the  house.”  It  is 
common  to  see  gray-headed  domestics  of  this 
kind  attached  to  an  English  family  of  the  “ old 
school,”  who  continue  in  it  to  the  day  of  their 
death,  in  the  enjoyment  of  steady,  unaffected 
kindness,  and  the  performance  of  faithful,  unof- 
licious  duty.  I think  such  instances  of  attach- 
ment speak  well  for  both  master  and  servant,  and 
the  frequency  of  them  speaks  well  for  national 
character. 

These  observations,  however,  hold  good  only 
with  families  of  the  description  I have  men- 
tioned, and  with  such  as  are  somewhat  retired, 
and  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  the 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 


31 


country.  As  to  the  powdered  menials  that 
throng  the  halls  of  fashionable  town  residences, 
they  equally  reflect  the  character  of  the  estab- 
lishments to  which  they  belong ; and  I know  no 
more  complete  epitome  of  dissolute  heartlessness, 
and  pampered  inutility. 

But  the  good  “ old  family  servant,”  — the  one 
who  has  always  been  linked,  in  idea,  with  the 
home  of  our  heart ; who  has  led  us  to  school  in 
the  days  of  prattling  childhood  ; who  has  been 
the  confidant  of  our  boyish  cares,  and  schemes, 
and  enterprises ; who  has  hailed  us  as  we  came 
home  at  vacations,  and  been  the  promoter  of  all 
our  holiday  sports ; who,  when  we,  in  wandering 
manhood,  have  left  the  paternal  roof,  and  only 
return  thither  at  intervals,  will  welcome  us  with 
a joy  inferior  only  to  that  of  our  parents  ; who, 
now  grown  gray  and  infirm  with  age,  still  totters 
about  the  house  of  our  fathers,  in  fond  and  faith- 
ful servitude  ; who  claims  us,  in  a manner,  as  his 
own ; and  hastens  with  querulous  eagerness  to 
anticipate  his  fellow-domestics  in  waiting  upon 
us  at  table ; and  who,  when  we  retire  a*  night  to 
the  chamber  that  still  goes  by  our  name,  will 
linger  about  the  room  to  have  one  more  kind 
look,  and  one  more  pleasant  word  about  times 
that  are  past,  — who  does  not  experience  towards 
such  a being  a feeling  of  almost  filial  affec- 
tion ? 

I have  met  with  several  instances  of  epitaphs 
on  the  grave-stones  of  such  valuable  domestics, 
recorded  with  the  simple  truth  of  natural  feel- 
ing. I have  two  before  me  at  this  moment ; one 


32 


BliACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


copied  from  a tombstone  of  a church  in  Warwick- 
shire : 

“ Here  lieth  the  body  of  Joseph  Batte,  con 
fidential  servant  to  George  Birch,  Esq.,  of  Ham- 
stead  Hall.  His  grateful  friend  and  master 
caused  this  inscription  to  be  written  in  memory 
of  his  discretion,  fidelity,  diligence,  and  continence. 
He  died  (a  bachelor)  aged  84,  having  lived  44 
years  in  the  same  family.” 

The  other  was  taken  from  a tombstone  in 
Eltham  church-yard : 

“ Here  lie  the  remains  of  Mr.  James  Tappy, 
who  departed  this  life  on  the  8th  of  September, 
1818,  aged  84,  after  a faithful  service  of  60  years 
in  one  family ; by  each  individual  of  which  he 
lived  respected,  and  died  lamented  by  the  sole 
survivor.” 

Few  monuments,  even  of  the  illustrious,  have 
given  me  the  glow  about  the  heart  that  I felt 
while  copying  this  honest  epitaph  in  the  church- 
yard of  Eltham.  I sympathized  with  this  “ sole 
survivor  ” of  a family  mourning  over  the  grave 
of  the  faithful  follower  of  his  race,  who  had  been, 
no  doubt,  a living  memento  of  times  and  friends 
that  had  passed  away ; and  in  considering  this 
record  of  long  and  devoted  service,  I call  to  mind 
the  touching  speech  of  Old  Adam,  in  u As  You 
Like  It,”  when  tottering  after  the  youthful  son 
of*  his  ancient  master : 

“ Master,  go  on,  and  I will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  love  and  loyalty.” 

Note — I cannot  but  mention  a tablet  which  I have  seen 
somewhere  in  the  chapel  of  Windsor  Castle,  put  up  by  the 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 


33 


late  king  to  the  memory  of  a family  servant,  who  had  been  a 
faithful  attendant  of  his  lamented  daughter,  the  Princess 
Amelia.  George  III.  possessed  much  of  the  strong,  domestic 
feeling  of  the  old  English  country  gentleman ; and  it  is  an 
incident  curious  in  monumental  history,  and  creditable  to  the 
human  heart,  a monarch  erecting  a monument  in  honor  of  the 
humble  virtues  of  a menial. 

3 


THE  WIDOW. 


She  was  so  charitable  and  pitious 
She  would  weep  if  that  she  saw  a mous 
Caught  in  a trap,  if  it  were  dead  or  bled : 

Of  small  hounds  had  she,  that  she  fed 
With  rost  flesh,  milke,  and  wastel  bread, 

But  sore  wept  she  if  any  of  them  were  dead, 

Or  if  man  smote  them  with  a yard  smart. 

Chaucer 

OTWITHSTANDING  the  whimsical 
parade  made  by  Lady  Lilly  craft  on  her 
arrival,  she  has  none  of  the  petty  state- 
liness that  I had  imagined  ; but,  on  the  contrary, 
a degree  of  nature,  and  simple-heartedness,  if  I 
may  use  the  phrase,  that  mingles  well  with  her 
old-fashioned  manners  and  harmless  ostentation. 
She  dresses  in  rich  silks,  with  long  waist;  she 
rouges  considerably,  and  her  hair,  which  is  nearly 
white,  is  frizzed  out,  and  put  up  with  pins.  Her 
face  is  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  but  the  delicacy 
of  her  features  shows  that  she  may  once  have 
been  beautiful ; and  she  has  a very  fair  and  well- 
shaped hand  and  arm,  of  which,  if  I mistake  not, 
the  good  lady  is  still  a little  vain. 

I have  had  the  curiosity  to  gather  a few  par- 
ticulars concerning  her.  She  was  a great  belle 
in  town  between  thirty  and  forty  years  since,  and 


THE  WIDOW. 


35 


reigned  for  two  seasons  with  all  the  insolence  oi 
beauty,  refusing  several  excellent  offers ; when, 
unfortunately,  she  was  robbed  of  her  charms  and 
her  lovers  by  an  attack  of  the  small-pox.  She 
retired  immediately  into  the  country,  where  she 
some  time  after  inherited  an  estate,  and  married 
a baronet,  a former  admirer,  whose  passion  had 
suddenly  revived  ; u having,”  as  he  said,  “ always 
loved  her  mind  rather  than  her  person.” 

The  baronet  did  not  enjoy  her  mind  and  for 
tune  above  six  months,  and  had  scarcely  grown 
very  tired  of  her,  when  he  broke  his  neck  in  a 
fox-chase,  and  left  her  free,  rich,  and  disconsolate. 
She  has  remained  on  her  estate  in  the  country 
ever  since,  and  has  never  shown  any  desire  to 
return  to  town,  and  revisit  the  scene  of  her  early 
triumphs  and  fatal  malady.  All  her  favorite  rec- 
ollections, however,  revert  to  that  short  period  of 
her  youthful  beauty.  She  has  no  idea  of  town 
but  as  it  was  at  that  time  ; and  continually  for- 
gets that  the  place  and  people  must  have  changed 
materially  in  the  course  of  nearly  half  a century. 
She  will  often  speak  of  the  toasts  of  those  days 
as  if  still  reigning ; and,  until  very  recently,  used 
to  talk  with  delight  of  the  royal  family,  and  the 
beauty  of  the  young  princes  and  princesses.  She 
cannot  be  brought  to  think  of  the  present  king 
otherwise  than  as  an  elegant  young  man,  rather 
wild,  but  who  danced  a minuet  divinely ; and 
before  he  came  to  the  crown,  would  often  mention 
him  as  the  “ sweet  young  prince.” 

She  talks  also  of  the  walks  in  Kensington 
Garden,  where  the  gentlemen  appeared  in  gold- 


i56 


Bit  A CBBlilDGE  HALL. 


laced  coats  and  cocked  hats,  and  the  ladies  in 
hoops,  and  swept  so  proudly  along  the  grassy 
avenues  ; and  she  thinks  the  ladies  let  themselves 
sadly  down  in  their  dignity,  when  they  gave  up 
cushioned  head-dresses,  and  high -heeled  shoes 
She  has  much  to  say  too  of  the  officers  who  were 
in  the  train  of  her  admirers  ; and  speaks  famil- 
iarly of  many  wild  young  blades,  who  are  now, 
perhaps,  hobbling  about  watering  - places  with 
crutches  and  gouty  shoes. 

Whether  the  taste  the  good  lady  had  of  matri- 
mony discouraged  her  or  not,  I cannot  say  ; but 
though  her  merits  and  her  riches  have  attracted 
many  suitors,  she  has  never  been  tempted  to 
venture  again  into  the  happy  state.  This  is 
singular,  too,  for  she  seems  of  a most  soft  and 
susceptible  heart ; is  always  talking  of  love  and 
connubial  felicity,  and  is  a great  stickler  for  old- 
fashioned  gallantry,  devoted  attentions,  and  eternal 
constancy,  on  the  part  of  the  gentlemen.  She 
lives,  however,  after  her  own  taste.  Her  house, 
I am  told,  must  have  been  built  and  furnished 
about  the  time  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison : every- 
thing about  it  is  somewhat  formal  and  stately; 
but  has  been  softened  down  into  a degree  of 
voluptuousness,  characteristic  of  an  old  lady,  very 
tender-hearted  and  romantic,  and  who  loves  her 
ease.  The  cushions  of  the  great  arm-chairs*  and 
wide  sofas,  almost  bury  you  when  you  sit  down 
on  them.  Flowers  of  the  most  rare  and  delicate 
kind  are  placed  about  the  rooms  and  on  little  ja- 
panned stands ; and  sweet  bags  lie  about  the  ta- 
bles and  mantelpieces.  The  house  is  full  of  pet 


THE  WIDOW . 


37 


dogs,  Angola  cats,  and  singing-birds,  who  are  as 
carefully  waited  upon  as  she  is  herself. 

She  is  dainty  in  ber  living,  and  a little  of  an 
epicure,  living  on  white  meats,  and  little  ladylike 
dishes,  though  her  servants  have  substantial  old 
English  fare,  as  their  looks  bear  witness.  Indeed, 
they  are  so  indulged  that  they  are  all  spoiled  ; 
and  when  they  lose  their  present  place,  they  wili 
be  fit  for  no  other.  Her  ladyship  is  one  of  those 
easy-tempered  beings,  that  are  always  doomed  to 
be  much  liked,  but  ill  served  by  their  domestics, 
and  cheated  by  all  the  world. 

Much  of  her  time  is  passed  in  reading  novels, 
of  which  she  has  a most  extensive  library,  and  a 
constant  supply  from  the  publishers  in  town 
Her  erudition  in  this  line  of  literature  is  immense ; 
she  has  kept  pace  with  the  press  for  half  a cen- 
tury. Her  mind  is  stuffed  with  love-tales  of  all 
kinds,  from  the  stately  amours  of  the  old  books 
of  chivalry,  down  to  the  last  blue-covered  ro- 
mance, reeking  from  the  press  ; though  she  evi- 
dently gives  the  preference  to  those  that  came  out 
in  the  days  of  her  youth,  and  when  she  was  first 
in  love.  She  maintains  that  there  are  no  novels 
written  nowadays  equal  to  Pamela  and  Sir 
Charles  Grandison  ; and  she  places  the  Castle  of 
Otranto  at  the  head  of  all  romances. 

She  does  a vast  deal  of  good  in  her  neighbor- 
hood, and  is  imposed  upon  by  every  beggar  in  the 
county.  She  is  the  benefactress  of  a village 
adjoining  her  estate,  and  takes  an  especial  inter- 
est in  all  its  love  - affairs.  She  knows  of  every 
courtship  that  is  going  on ; every  lovelorn  damsel 


38 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


is  sure  to  find  a patient  listener  and  a sage  adviser 
in  her  ladyship.  She  takes  great  pains  to  recon- 
cile all  love-quarrels ; and  should  any  faithless 
swain  persist  in  his  inconstancy,  he  is  sure  to 
draw  on  himself  the  good  lady’s  violent  indigna- 
tion, 

I have  learned  these  particulars  partly  from 
Frank  Bracebridge,  and  partly  from  Master  Simon. 
I am  now  able  to  account  for  the  assiduous  atten- 
tion of  the  latter  to  her  ladyship.  Her  house  is 
one  of  his  favorite  resorts,  where  he  is  a very 
important  personage.  He  makes  her  a visit  of 
business  once  a year,  when  he  looks  into  all  her 
affairs  ; which,  as  she  is  no  manager,  are  apt  to 
get  into  confusion.  He  examines  the  books  of 
the  overseer,  and  shoots  about  the  estate,  which, 
he  says,  is  well  stocked  with  game,  notwithstand- 
ing that  it  is  poached  by  all  the  vagabonds  in  the 
neighborhood. 

It  is  thought,  as  I before  hinted,  that  the  cap- 
tain will  inherit  the  greater  part  of  her  property, 
having  always  been  her  chief  favorite : for,  in 
fact,  she  is  partial  to  a red  coat.  She  has  now 
come  to  the  Hall  to  be  present  at  his  nuptials, 
having  a great  disposition  to  interest  herself  in 
all  matters  of  love  and  matrimony. 


THE  LOVERS. 

Rise  up,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away  ; for  lo  the  winter  if 
past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone  ; the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth, 
the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle 
Is  heard  in  the  land.  — Song  of  Solomon. 


0 a man  who  is  little  of  a philosopher, 
and  a bachelor  to  boot ; and  who,  by 
dint  of  some  experience  in  the  follies  of 
life,  begins  to  look  with  a learned  eye  upon  the 
ways  of  man,  and  eke  of  woman  ; to  such  a man, 
I say,  there  is  something  very  entertaining  in 
noticing  the  conduct  of  a pair  of  young  lovers. 
It  may  not  be  as  grave  and  scientific  a study  as 
the  loves  of  the  plants,  but  it  is  certainly  as  in- 
teresting. 

I have  therefore  derived  much  pleasure,  since 
my  arrival  at  the  Hall,  from  observing  the  fair 
Julia  and  her  lover.  She  has  all  the  delightful, 
blushing  consciousness  of  an  artless  girl,  inexpe- 
rienced in  coquetry,  who  has  made  her  first  con- 
quest; while  the  captain  regards  her  with  that 
mixture  of  fondness  and  exultation  with  which  a 
youthful  lover  is  apt  to  contemplate  so  beauteous 
»i  prize. 

I observed  them  yesterday  in  the  garden,  ad- 
vancing along  one  of  the  retired  walks.  The 


10 


BRA  CEB  It  ID  GE  I1ALL. 


sun  was  shining  with  delicious  warmth,  making 
great  masses  of  bright  verdure,  and  deep  blue 
shade.  The  cuckoo,  that  “ harbinger  of  spring,” 
was  faintly  heard  from  a distance ; the  thrush 
piped  from  the  hawthorn ; and  the  yellow  butter- 
flies sported,  and  toyed,  and  coquetted  in  the 
air. 

The  fair  Julia  was  leaning  on  her  lover’s  arm, 
listening  to  his  conversation,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down,  a soft  blush  on  her  cheek,  and  a quiet 
smile  on  her  lips,  while  in  the  hand  that  hung 
negligently  by  her  side  was  a bunch  of  flow- 
ers. In  this  way  they  were  sauntering  slowly 
along ; and  when  I considered  them,  and  the 
scene  in  which  they  were  moving,  I could  not 
but  think  it  a thousand  pities  that  the  season 
should  ever  change,  or  that  young  people  should 
ever  grow  older,  or  that  blossoms  should  give 
way  to  fruit,  or  that  lovers  should  ever  get 
married. 

From  what  I have  gathered  of  family  anecdote, 
I understand  that  the  fair  Julia  is  the  daughter 
of  a favorite  college  friend  of  the  Squire  ; who, 
after  leaving  Oxford,  had  entered  the  army,  and 
served  for  many  years  in  India,  where  he  was 
mortally  wounded  in  a skirmish  with  the  natives. 
In  his  last  moments  he  had,  with  a faltering  pen, 
recommended  his  wife  and  daughter  to  the  kind- 
ness of  his  early  friend. 

The  widow  and  her  child  returned  to  England 
helpless  and  almost  hopeless.  When  Mr.  Brace- 
bridge  received  accounts  of  their  situation,  he 
hastened  to  their  relief.  He  reached  them  just  in 


THE  LOVERS. 


41 


time  to  soothe  the  last  moments  of  the  mother 
who  was  dying  of  a oonsumption,  and  to  make 
her  happy  in  the  assurance  that  her  child  should 
never  want  a protector. 

The  good  Squire  returned  with  his  prattling 
charge  to  his  stronghold,  where  lie  has  brought 
her  up  with  a tenderness  truly  paternal.  As  he 
lias  taken  some  pains  to  superintend  her  educa- 
tion, and  form  her  taste,  she  has  grown  up  with 
many  of  his  notions,  and  considers  him  the  wisest 
as  well  as  the  best  of  men.  Much  of  her  time, 
too,  has  been  passed  with  Lady  Lillycraft,  who  has 
instructed  her  in  the  manners  of  the  old  school, 
and  enriched  her  mind  with  all  kinds  of  novels  and 
romances.  Indeed,  her  ladyship  has  had  a great 
hand  in  promoting  the  match  between  Julia  and 
the  captain,  having  had  them  together  at  her 
country  seat  the  moment  she  found  there  was  an 
attachment  growing  up  between  them  ; the  good 
lady  being  never  so  happy  as  when  she  has  a pair 
of  turtles  cooing  about  her. 

I have  been  pleased  to  see  the  fondness  with 
which  the  fair  Julia  is  regarded  by  the  old  ser- 
vants at  the  Hall.-  She  has  been  a pet  with  them 
from  childhood,  and  every  one  seems  to  lay  some 
claim  to  her  education  ; so  that  it  is  no  wonder 
she  should  be  extremely  accomplished.  The  gar- 
dener taught  her  to  rear  flowers,  of  which  she 
is  extremely  fond.  Old  Christy,  the  pragmatical 
huntsman,  softens  when  she  approaches  ; and  as 
she  sits  lightly  and  gracefully  in  her  saddle,  claims 
he  merit  of  having  taught  her  to  ride ; while 
the  housekeeper,  who  almost  looks  upon  her  as 


42 


BRA  CE BRIDGE  HALL. 


a daughter,  intimates  that  she  first  gave  her  an 
insight  into  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  having 
been  dressing-maid  in  her  young  days  to  the  late 
Mrs.  Bracebridge.  I am  inclined  to  credit  this 
last  claim,  as  I have  noticed  that  the  dress  of  the 
young  lady  had  an  air  of  the  old  school,  though 
managed  with  native  taste,  and  that  her  hair  was 
put  up  very  much  in  the  style  of  Sir  Peter  Lely’s 
portraits  in  the  picture  gallery. 

Her  very  musical  attainments  partake  of  this 
old-fashioned  character,  and  most  of  her  songs  are 
such  as  are  not  at  the  present  day  to  be  found  on 
the  piano  of  a modern  performer.  I have,  how- 
ever, seen  so  much  of  modern  fashions,  modern 
accomplishments,  and  modern  fine  ladies,  that  I 
relish  this  tinge  of  antiquated  style  in  so  young 
and  lovely  a girl ; and  I have  had  as  much  pleas- 
ure in  hearing  her  warble  one  of  the  old  songs  of 
Herrick,  or  Carew,  or  Suckling,  adapted  to  some 
simple  old  melody,  as  from  listening  to  a lady 
amateur  sky-lark  it  up  and  down  through  the 
finest  bravura  of  Rossini  or  Mozart. 

We  have  very  pretty  music  in  the  evenings, 
occasionally,  between  her  and  the  captain,  assisted 
sometimes  by  Master  Simon,  who  scrapes,  dubi- 
ously, on  his  violin ; being  very  apt  to  get  out 
and  to  halt  a note  or  two  in  the  rear.  Sometimes 
he  even  thrums  a little  on  the  piano,  and  takes  a 
part  in  a trio,  in  which  his  voice  can  generally  be 
distinguished  by  a certain  quavering  tone,  and  an 
occasional  false  note. 

I was  praising  the  fair  Julia’s  performance  to 
tiim  after  one  of  her  songs,  when  I found  he  took 


THE  LOVERS. 


43 


to  himself  the  whole  credit  of  having  formed  her 
musical  taste,  assuring  me  that  she  was  very  apt , 
and,  indeed,  summing  up  her  whole  character  in 
his  knowing  way,  by  adding,  that  u she  was  a 
very  nice  girl,  and  had  no  nonsense  about  her.” 


FAMILY  RELICS. 


My  Infelice’s  face,  her  brow,  her  eye, 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek  : and  such  sweet  skill 
Hath  from  the  cunning  workman’s  pencil  flown, 
These  lips  look  fresh  and  lively  as  her  own. 

False  colors  last  after  the  true  be  dead. 

Of  all  the  roses  grafted  on  her  cheeks, 

Of  all  the  graces  dancing  in  her  eyes, 

Of  all  the  music  set  upon  her  tongue.. 

Of  all  that  was  past  woman’s  excellence 
In  her  white  bosom ; look,  a painted  board 
Circumscribes  all ! Dekker. 


N old  English  family  mansion  is  a fertile 
subject  for  study.  It  abounds  with  il- 
lustrations of  former  times,  and  traces 
of  the  tastes,  and  humors,  and  manners,  of  succes- 
sive generations.  The  alterations  and  additions, 
in  different  styles  of  architecture ; the  furniture, 
plate,  pictures,  hangings  ; the  warlike  and  sport- 
ing implements  of  different  ages  and  fancies  ; all 
furnish  food  for  curious  and  amusing  speculation. 
As  the  Squire  is  very  careful  in  collecting  and 
preserving  all  family  relics,  the  Hall  is  full  of 
remembrances  of  the  kind.  Li  looking  about  the 
establishment,  I can  picture  to  myself  the  charac- 
ters and  habits  that  have  prevailed  at  different 
eras  of  the  family  history.  I have  mentioned  on 
a former  occasion  the  armor  of  the  crusaders 


FAMILY  H EL  ICS. 


45 


which  hangs  up  in  the  Hall.  There  are  also  sev- 
eral jackboots,  with  enormously  thick  soles  and 
high  heels,  which  belonged  to  a set  of  cavaliers, 
who  tilled  the  Hall  with  the  din  and  stir  of  arms 
during  the  time  of  the  Covenanters.  A number 
of  enormous  drinking-vessels  of  antique  fashion, 
with  huge  Venice  glasses,  and  green  hock-glasses, 
with  the  Apostles  in  relief  on  them,  remain  as 
monuments  of  a generation  or  two  of  hard  livers, 
who  led  a life  of  roaring  revelry,  and  first  intro- 
duced the  gout  into  the  family. 

I shall  pass  over  several  more  such  indications 
of  temporary  tastes  of  the  Squire’s  predecessors ; 
but  I cannot  forbear  to  notice  a pair  of  antlers  in 
the  great  hall,  which  is  one  of  the  trophies  of  a 
hard-riding  squire  of  former  times,  who  was  the 
Nimrod  of  these  parts.  There  are  many  tradi- 
tions of  his  wonderful  feats  in  hunting  still  exist- 
ing, which  are  related  by  old  Christy,  the  hunts- 
man, who  gets  exceedingly  nettled  if  they  are  in 
the  least  doubted.  Indeed,  there  is  a frightful 
chasm,  a few  miles  from  the  Hall,  which  goes  by 
the  name  of  the  Squire’s  Leap,  from  his  having 
cleared  it  in  the  ardor  of  the  chase  ; there  can  be 
no  doubt  of  the  fact,  for  old  Christy  shows  the 
very  dints  of  the  horse’s  hoofs  on  the  rocks  on 
each  side  of  the  chasm. 

Master  Simon  holds  the  memory  of  this  Squire 
in  great  veneration,  and  has  a number  of  ex- 
traordinary stories  to  tell  concerning  him,  which 
he  repeats  at  all  hunting-dinners ; and  I am  told 
that  they  wax  more  and  more  marvellous  the 
older  they  grow.  He  has  also  a pair  of  Rippon 


46 


BRA  CEBR  ID  G E FI  ALL. 


spurs  which  belonged  to  this  mighty  hunter  of 
yore,  and  which  he  only  wears  on  particular  oc- 
casions. 

The  place,  however,  which  abounds  most  with 
mementos  of  past  times,  is  the  picture  gallery  ; 
and  there  is  something  strangely  pleasing,  though 
melancholy,  in  considering  the  long  rows  of  por- 
traits which  compose  the  greater  part  of  the  col- 
lection. They  furnish  a kind  of  narrative  of  the 
lives  of  the  family  worthies  which  I am  enabled 
to  read  with  the  assistance  of  the  venerable  house- 
keeper, who  is  the  family  chronicler,  prompted 
occasionally  by  Master  Simon.  There  is  the 
progress  of  a fine  lady,  for  instance,  through  a 
variety  of  portraits.  One  represents  her  as  a lit- 
tle girl,  with  a long  waist  and  hoop,  holding  a 
kitten  in  her  arms,  and  ogling  the  spectator  out 
of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  as  if  she  could  not  turn 
her  head.  In  another  we  find  her  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  youthful  beauty,  when  she  was  a cele- 
brated belle,  and  so  hard-hearted  as  to  cause  sev- 
eral unfortunate  gentlemen  to  run  desperate  and 
write  bad  poetry.  In  another  she  is  depicted  as 
a stately  dame,  in  the  maturity  of  her  charms  ; 
next  to  the  portrait  of  her  husband,  a gallant- 
colonel  in  full-bottomed  wig  and  gold-laced  hat, 
who  was  killed  abroad  ; and,  finally,  her  monument 
is  in  the  church,  the  spire  of  which  may  be  seen 
from  the  window,  where  her  effigy  is  carved  in 
marble,  and  represents  her  as  a venerable  dame 
of  seventy-six. 

In  like  manner  I have  followed  some  of  the 
family  great  men  through  a series  of  pictures, 


FAMILY  RELICS. 


47 


from  early  boyhood  to  the  robe  of  dignity,  or 
truncheon  of  command,  and  so  on  by  degrees,  un- 
til they  were  garnered  up  in  the  common  repos- 
itory, the  neighboring  church. 

There  is  one  group  that  particularly  interested 
me.  It  consisted  of  four  sisters  of  nearly  the 
same  age,  who  flourished  about  a century  since, 
and,  if  I may  judge  from  their  portraits,  were 
extremely  beautiful.  I can  imagine  what  a scene 
of  gayety  and  romance  this  old  mansion  must 
have  been,  when  they  were  in  the  heyday  of  their 
charms ; when  they  passed  like  beautiful  vis- 
ions through  its  halls,  or  stepped  daintily  to  mu- 
sic in  the  revels  and  dances  of  the  cedar  gallery  ; 
or  printed,  with  delicate  feet,  the  velvet  verdure 
of  these  lawns.  How  must  they  have  been  look- 
ed up  to  with  mingled  love,  and  pride,  and  rev- 
erence, by  the  old  family  servants ; and  followed 
with  almost  painful  admiration  by  the  aching  eyes 
of  rival  admirers ! How  must  melody,  and  song, 
and  tender  serenade,  have  breathed  about  these 
courts,  and  their  echoes  whispered  to  the  loitering 
tread  of  lovers  ! How  must  these  very  turrets 
have  made  the  hearts  of  the  young  galliards  thrill 
as  they  first  discerned  them  from  afar,  rising  from 
among  the  trees,  and  pictured  to  themselves  the 
beauties  casketed  like  gems  within  these  walls ! 
Indeed,  I have  discovered  about  the  place  several 
faint  records  of  this  reign  of  love  and  romance, 
when  the  Hall  was  a kind  of  Court  of  Beauty. 

Several  of  the  old  romances  in  the  library 
have  marginal  notes  expressing  sympathy  and 
approbation,  where  there  are  long  speeches  extol- 


48 


BRA  CE BR IDG  L 17 ALL. 


Ling  ladies’  charms,  or  protesting  eternal  fidelity, 
or  bewailing  the  cruelty  of  some  tyrannical  fair 
one.  The  interviews,  and  declarations,  and  part- 
ing scenes  of  tender  lovers,  also  bear  evidence 
of  having  been  frequently  read,  and  are  scored 
and  marked  with  notes  of  admiration,  and  have 
initials  written  on  the  margins ; most  of  which 
annotations  have  the  day  of  the  month  and  year 
annexed  to  them.  Several  of  the  windows,  too, 
have  scraps  of  poetry  engraved  on  them  with  dia- 
monds, taken  from  the  writings  of  the  fair  Mrs. 
Philips,  the  once  celebrated  Orinda.  Some  of 
these  seem  to  have  been  inscribed  by  lovers  ; and 
others,  in  a delicate  and  unsteady  hand,  and  a 
little  inaccurate  in  the,  spelling,  have  evidently 
been  written  by  the  young  ladies  themselves,  or 
by  female  friends,  who  have  been  on  visits  to  the 
Hall.  Mrs.  Philips  seems  to  have  been  their  fa- 
vorite author,  and  they  have  distributed  the  names, 
of  her  heroes  and  heroines  among  their  circle  of 
intimacy.  Sometimes,  in  a male  hand,  the  verse 
bewails  the  cruelty  of  beauty,  and  the  sufferings 
of  constant  love ; while  in  a female  hand  it  pru- 
dishly confines  itself  to  lamenting  the  parting  of 
female  friends.  The  bow-window  of  my  bed- 
room, which  has,  doubtless,  been  inhabited  by  one 
of  these  beauties,  has  several  of  these  inscrip- 
tions. I have  one  at  this  moment  before  my 
eyes,  called  “ Camilla  parting  with  Leonora  ” : 

“ How  perished  is  the  joy  that  ’a  past, 

The  present  how  unsteady ! 

What  comfort  can  be  great  and  last, 

Whei  this  is  gone  already?  ” 


FAMILY  RELICS. 


49 


Arid  close  by  it  is  another,  written,  perhaps,  by 
some  adventurous  lover,  who  had  stolen  into  the 
lady’s  chamber  during  her  absence. 

41  THEODOSIUS  TO  CAMILLA. 

I’d  rather  in  your  favor  live 
Than  in  a lasting  name ; 

And  much  a greater  rate  would  give 
For  happiness  than  fame. 

Theodosius,  1700.” 

When  I look  at  these  faint  records  of  gallan- 
try and  tenderness ; when  I contemplate  the  fad- 
ing portraits  of  these  beautiful  girls,  and  think  too 
that  they  have  long  since  bloomed,  reigned,  grown 
old,  died,  and  passed  away,  and  with  them  all 
their  graces,  their  triumphs,  their  rivalries,  their 
admirers  ; the  whole  empire  of  love  and  pleasure 
in  which  they  ruled  — u all  dead,  all  buried,  all 
forgotten,”  I find  a cloud  of  melancholy  stealing 
over  the  present  gayeties  around  me.  I was  gaz- 
ing, in  a musing  mood,  this  very  morning,  at  the 
portrait  of  the  lady  whose  husband  was  killed 
abroad,  when  the  fair  Julia  entered  the  gallery, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  captain.  The  sun 
shone  through  the  row  of  windows  on  her  as  she 
passed  along,  and  she  seemed  to  beam  out  each 
time  into  brightness,  and  relapse  into. shade,  until 
the  door  at  the.  bottom  of  the  gallery  closed  after 
her.  I felt  a sadness  of  heart  at  the  idea,  that 
this  was  an  emblem  of  her  lot : a few  more  years 
of  sunshine  and  shade,  and  all  tills  life,  and  love- 
liness, and  enjoyment  will  have  ceased,  and  noth- 
ing be  left  to  commemorate  this  beautiful  being 
4 


50 


BRA  CEBRJDGE  HALL. 


but  one  more  perishable  portrait ; to  awaken, 
perhaps,  the  trite  speculations  of  some  future  loi- 
terer, like  myself,  when  I and  my  scribblings 
shall  have  lived  through  our  brief  existence,  and 
been  forgotten. 


AN  OLD  SOLDIER. 

I’ve  worn  some  leather  out  abroad ; let  out  a heathen  soul  or  two ; 
fed  this  good  sword  with  the  black  blood  of  pagan  Christians  ; con- 
verted a few  infidels  with  it.  — But  let  that  pass.  — The  Ordinary. 

Hall  was  thrown  into  some  little 
agitation,  a few  days  since,  by  the  ar- 
rival  of  General  Harbottle.  He  had 
been  expected  for  several  days,  and  looked  for, 
rather  impatiently,  by  several  of  the  family. 
Master  Simon  assured  me  that  I would  like  the 
general  hugely,  for  he  was  a blade  of  the  old 
school,  and  an  excellent  table-companion.  Lady 
Lillycraft,  also,  appeared  to  be  somewhat  fluttered 
on  the  morning  of  the  general’s  arrival,  for  he 
had  been  one  of  her  early  admirers  ; and  she  rec- 
ollected him  only  as  a dashing  young  ensign,  just 
come  upon  the  town.  She  actually  spent  an 
hour  longer  at  her  toilette,  and  made  her  appear- 
ance with  her  hair  uncommonly  frizzed  and  pow- 
dered, and  an  additional  quantity  of  rouge.  She 
was  evidently  a little  surprised  and  shocked, 
therefore,  at  finding  the  lithe  dashing  ensign 
transformed  into  a corpulent  old  general,  with  a 
double  chin ; though  it  was  a perfect  picture  to 
.witness  their  salutations,  the  graciousness  of  her 
profound  courtesy,  and  the  air  of  the  old  school 


52 


BRA  CEB  It  IDG  E HALL . 


with  which  the  general  took  off  his  hat,  swayed  it 
gently  in  his  hand,  and  bowed  his  powdered 
head. 

All  this  bustle  and  anticipation  has  caused  me 
to  study  the  general  with  a little  more  attention 
than,  perhaps,  I should  otherwise  have  done  ; and 
the  few  days  that  he  has  already  passed  at  th° 
Hall  have  enabled  me,  I think,  to  furnish  a toler- 
able likeness  of  him  to  the  reader. 

He  is,  as  Master  Simon  observed,  a soldier  of 
the  old  school,  with  powdered  head,  side-locks, 
and  pigtail.  His  face  is  shaped  like  the  stern  of 
a Dutch  man-of-war,  narrow  at  top,  and  wide  at 
bottom,  with  full  rosy  cheeks  and  a double  chin  ; 
so  that,  to  use  the  cant  of  the  day,  his  organs  of 
eating  may -be  said  to  be  powerfully  developed. 

The  general,  though  a veteran,  has  seen  very 
little  active  service,  except  the  taking  of  Sering- 
apatam,  which  forms  an  era  in  his  history.  He 
wears  a large  emerald  in  his  bosom,  and  a dia- 
mond on  his  finger,  which  he  got  on  that  occa- 
sion, and  whoever  is  unlucky  enough  to  notice 
either,  is  sure  to  involve  himself  in  the  whole 
history  of  the  siege.  To  judge  from  the  gen- 
eral's conversation,  the  taking  of  Seringapatam  is 
the  most  important  affair  that  has  occurred  for  the 
last  century. 

On  the  approach  of  wTarlike  times  on  the  Conti- 
nent, he  was  rapidly  promoted  to  get  him  out  of 
the  way  of  younger  officers  of  merit ; until,  hav- 
ing been  hoisted  to  the  rank  of  general,  he  was 
quietly  laid  on  the  shelf.  Since  that  time  his# 
campaigns  have  been  principally  confined  to  wa- 


AN  OLD  SOLDIER. 


53 


tering-places ; where  he  drinks  the  waters  for  a 
slight  touch  of  the  liver  which  he  got  in  India , 
and  plays  whist  with  old  dowagers,  with  whom 
he  has  flirted  in  his  younger  days.  Indeed,  he 
talks  of  all  the  fine  women  of  the  last  half  cen- 
tury, and,  according  to  hints  which  he  now  and 
then  drops,  has  enjoyed  the  particular  smiles  of 
many  of  them. 

He  has  seen  considerable  garrison  duty,  and 
can  speak  of  almost  every  place  famous  for  good 
quarters,  and  where  the  inhabitants  give  good  din- 
ners. He  is  a diner-out  of  first-rate  currency, 
when  in  town ; being  invited  to  one  place  be- 
cause he  has  been  seen  at  another.  In  the  same 
way  he  is  invited  about  the  country-seats,  and 
can  describe  half  the  seats  in  the  kingdom,  from 
actual  observation  ; nor  is  any  one  better  versed 
in  court  gossip,  and  the  pedigrees  and  intermar- 
riages of  the  nobility. 

As  the  general  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  an  old 
beau,  and  there  are  several  ladies  at  the  Hall, 
especially  his  quondam  flame  Lady  Lillycraft,  he 
is  put  rather  upon  his  gallantry.  He  commonly 
passes  some  time,  therefore,  at  his  toilette,  and 
takes  the  field  at  a late  hour  every  morning,  with 
his  hair  dressed  out  and  powdered,  and  a rose  in 
his  button-hole.  After  he  has  breakfasted,  he 
walks  up  and  down  the  terrace  in  the  sunshine, 
humming  an  air,  and  hemming  between  every 
stave,  carrying  one  hand  behind  his  back,  and 
with  the  other  touching  his  cane  to  the  ground, 
and  then  raising  it  up  to  his  shoulder.  Should 
he,  in  these  morning  promenades,  meet  any  of  the 


54 


BRA  CEDRIDGE  HALL. 


elder  ladies  of  the  family,  as  lie  frequently  does 
Lady  Lillycraft,  his  hat  is  immediately  in  his 
hand,  and  it  is  enough  to  remind  one  of  those 
courtly  groups  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  old 
prints  of  Windsor  Terrace,  or  Kensington  Garden. 

He  talks  frequently  about  u the  service,1 ” and  is 
fond  of  humming  the  old  song, 

u Why,  soldiers,  why. 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys  ? 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

Whose  business ’t is  to  die!  ” 

1 cannot  discover,  however,  that  the  general  has 
ever  run  any  great  risk  of  dying,  excepting  from 
an  apoplexy  or  an  indigestion.  He  criticises  all 
the  battles  on  the  Continent,  and  discusses  the 
merits  of  the  commanders,  but  never  fails  to 
bring  the  conversation,  ultimately,  to  Tippoo  Saib 
and  Seringapatam.  I am  told  that  the  general 
was  a perfect  champion  at  drawing-rooms,  parades, 
and  watering-places,  during  the  late  war,  and  was 
looked  to  with  hope  and  confidence  by  many  an 
old  lady,  when  laboring  under  the  terror  of  Bona- 
parte’s invasion. 

He  is  thoroughly  loyal,  and  attends  punctually 
on  levees  when  in  town.  He  has  treasured  up 
many  remarkable  sayings  of  the  late  king,  par- 
ticularly one  which  the  king  made  to  him  on  a 
field-day,  complimenting  him  on  the  excellence  of 
his  horse.  He  extols  the  whole  royal  family,  but 
especially  the  present  king,  whom  he  pronounces 
the  most  perfect  gentleman  and  best  whist-player 
in  Europe.  The  general  swears  rather  more  than 
is  the  fashion  at  the  present  day  ; but  it  was  the 


AN  OLD  SOLDIER . 


55 


mode  in  the  old  school.  He  is,  however,  very 
strict  in  religious  matters,  and  a stanch  church- 
man. He  repeats  the  responses  very  loudly  in 
church,  and  is  empliatical  in  praying  for  the  king 
and  royal  family. 

At  table  his  royalty  waxes  very  fervent  with 
his  second  bottle,  and  the  song  of  “ God  save  the 
King  ” puts  him  into  a perfect  ecstasy.  He  is 
amazingly  well  contented  with  the  present  state 
of  things,  and  apt  to  get  a little  impatient  at  any 
talk  about  national  ruin  and  agricultural  distress. 
He  says  he  has  travelled  about  the  country  as 
much  as  any  man,  and  has  met  with  nothing  but 
prosperity  ; and  to  confess  the  truth,  a great  part 
of  his  time  is  spent  in  visiting  from  one  country- 
seat  to  another,  and  riding  about  the  parks  of  his 
friends.  “ They  talk  of  public  distress,”  said  the 
general  this  day  to  me,  at  dinner,  as  he  smacked 
a glass  of  rich  burgundy,  and  cast  his  eyes 
about  the  ample  board ; “ they  talk  of  public 
distress,  but  where  do  we  find  it,  sir?  I see 
none.  I see  no  reason  any  one  has  to  complain. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  sir,  this  talk  about  public 
distress  is  all  humbug  ! ” 


THE  WIDOW’S  RETINUE. 

Little  dogs  and  all ! 

Leas. 


N giving  an  account  of  the  arrival  of 
Lady  Lillycraft  at  the  Hall,  I ought  to 
have  mentioned  the  entertainment  which 
I derived  from  witnessing  the  unpacking  of  her 
carriage,  and  the  disposing  of  her  retinue.  There 
is  something  extremely  amusing  to  me  in  the 
number  of  factitious  wants,  the  loads  of  imagi- 
nary conveniences,  but  real  incumbrances,  with 
which  the  luxurious  are  apt  to  burden  them- 
selves. I like  to  watch  the  whimsical  stir  and 
display  about  one  of  these  petty  progresses.  The 
number  of  robustious  footmen  and  retainers  of 
all  kinds  bustling  about,  with  looks  of  infinite 
gravity  and  importance,  to  do  almost  nothing. 
The  number  of  heavy  trunks,  and  parcels,  and 
bandboxes  belonging  to  my  lady ; and  the  solici- 
tude exhibited  about  some  humble,  odd-looking 
box,  by  my  lady’s  maid  ; the  cushions  piled  in 
the  carriage  to  make  a soft  seat  still  softer,  and 
to  prevent  the  dreaded  possibility  of  a jolt ; the 
smelling-bottles,  the  cordials,  the  baskets  of  bis- 
cuit and  fruit ; the  new  publications ; all  pro- 
vided to  guard  against  hunger,  fatigue,  or  ennui  .* 


THE  WIDOW'S  retinue:. 


57 


the  led  horses  to  vary  the  mode  of  travelling 
and  all  this  preparation  and  parade  to  move,  per 
haps,  some  very  good-for-nothing  personage  about 
a little  space  of . earth  ! 

I do  not  mean  to  apply  the  latter  part  of  these 
observations  to  Lady  Lillyeraft,  for  whose  simple 
kind-heartedness  I have  a very  great  respect,  and 
who  is  really  a most  amiable  and  worthy  being. 
I cannot  refrain,  however,  from  mentioning  some 
of  the  motley  retinue  she  has  brought  with  her ; 
and  which,  indeed,  bespeak  the  overflowing  kind- 
ness of  her  nature,  which  requires  her  to  be  sur- 
rounded with  objects  on  which  to  lavish  it. 

In  the  first  place,  her  ladyship  has  a pampered 
coachman,  with  a red  face,  and  cheeks  that  hang 
down  like  dew-laps.  He  evidently  domineers 
over  her  a little  with  respect  to  the  fat  horses  ; 
and  only  drives  out  when  he  thinks  proper,  and 
when  he  thinks  it  will  be  “ good  for  the  cattle.” 

She  has  a favorite  page  to  attend  upon  her 
person : a handsome  boy  of  about  twelve  years 
of  age,  but  a mischievous  varlet,  very  much 
spoiled,  and  in  a fair  way  to  be  good  for  nothing. 
He  is  dressed  in  green,  with  a profusion  of  gold 
cord  and  gilt  buttons  about  his  clothes.  She 
always  has  one  or  two  attendants  of  the  kind, 
who  are  replaced  by  others  as  soon  as  they  grow 
to  fourteen  years  of  age.  She  has  brought  two 
dogs  with  her,  also,  out  of  a number  of  pets 
which  she  maintains  at  home.  One  is  a fat  span- 
iel called  Zephyr  — though  heaven  defend  me 
from  such  a zephyr ! He  is  fed  out  of  all  shape 
and  comfort ; his  eyes  are  nearly  strained  out  of 


58 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


his  head ; he  wheezes  with  corpulency,  and  can* 
not  walk  without  great  difficulty.  The  other  is  a 
little,  old,  gray  muzzled  curmudgeon,  with  an  un- 
happy eye,  that  kindles  like  a coal  if  you  only 
look  at  him ; his  nose  turns  up  ; his  mouth  is 
drawn  into  wrinkles,  so  as  to  show  his  teeth  ; in 
short,  he  has  altogether  the  look  of  a dog  far 
gone  in  misanthropy,  and  totally  sick  of  the  world. 
When  he  walks,  he  has  his  tail  curled  up  so  tight 
that  it  seems  to  lift  his  feet  from  the  ground ; 
and  he  seldom  makes  use  of  more  than  three  legs 
at  a time,  keeping  the  other  drawn  up  as  a re- 
serve. This  last  wretch  is  called  Beauty. 

These  dogs  are  full  of  elegant  ailments  un- 
known to  vulgar  dogs ; and  are  petted  and  nursed 
by  Lady  Lillycraft  with  the  tenderest  kindness. 
They  are  pampered  and  fed  with  delicacies  by 
their  fellow-minion,  the  page  ; but  their  stomachs 
are  often  weak  and  out  of  order,  so  that  they 
cannot  eat  ; though  I have  now  and  then  seen 
the  page  give  them  a mischievous  pinch,  or 
thwack  over  the  head,  when  his  mistress  was  not 
by.  They  have  cushions  for  their  express  use,  on 
which  they  lie  before  the  fire,  and  yet  are  apt  to 
shiver  and  moan  if  there  is  the  least  draught  of 
air.  When  any  one  enters  the  room,  they  make 
a tyrannical  barking  that  is  absolutely  deafening. 
They  are  insolent  to  all  the  other  dogs  of  the 
establishment.  There  is  a noble  stag-hound,  a 
great  favorite  of  the  Squire’s,  who  is  a privileged 
visitor  to  the  parlor  ; but  tjie  moment  he  makes 
his  appearance,  these  intruders  fly  at  him  with 
furious  rage ; and  I have  admired  the  sovereign 


THE  WIDOW'S  RETINUE. 


5rJ 


indifference  and  contempt  with  which  he  seems 
to  look  down  upon  his  puny  assailants.  When 
her  ladyship  drives  out,  these  dogs  are  generally 
carried  with  her  to  take  the  air ; when  they  look 
out  of  each  window  of  the  carriage,  and  bark  at 
all  vulgar  pedestrian  dogs.  These  dogs  are  a 
continual  source  of  misery  to  the  household:  as 
they  are  always  in  the  way,  they  every  now  and 
then  get  their  toes  trod  on,  and  then  there  is  a 
yelping  on  their  part,  and  a loud  lamentation  on 
the  part  of  their  mistress,  that  fill  the  room  with 
clamor  and  confusion. 

Lastly,  there  is  her  ladyship’s  waiting-gentle- 
woman, Mrs.  Hannah,  a prim,  pragmatical  old 
maid  ; one  of  the  most  intolerable  and  intolerant 
virgins  that  ever  lived.  She  has  kept  her  vir- 
tue by  her  until  it  has  turned  sour,  and  now 
every  word  and  look  smacks  of  verjuice.  She  is 
the  very  opposite  to  her  mistress,  for  one  hates, 
and  the  other  loves,  all  mankind.  How  they 
first  came  together  I cannot  imagine  ; but  they 
have  lived  together  for  many  years  ; and  the  abi- 
gail’s  temper  being  tart  and  encroaching,  and  her 
ladyship’s  easy  and  yielding,  the  former  has  got 
the  complete  upperhand,  and  tyrannizes  over  the 
good  lady  in  secret. 

Lady  Lillycraft  now  and  then  complains  of  it, 
in  great  confidence,  to  her  friends,  but  hushes  up 
the  subject  immediately,  if  Mrs.  Hannah  makes 
her  appearance.  Indeed,  she  has  been  so  accus- 
tomed to  be  attended  by  her,  that  she  thinks  she 
could  not  do  without  her  ; though  one  great  study 
of  her  life  is  to  keep  Mrs.  Hannah  in  good  humor 
by  little  presents  and  kindnesses. 


60 


B R A CEBU I DUE  11ALL . 


Master  Simon  has  a most  devout  abhorrence 
mingled  with  awe,  for  this  arcient  spinster.  He 
told  me  the  other  day,  in  a whisper,  that  she  was 
a cursed  brimstone,  — in  fact,  he  added  another 
epithet,  which  I would  not  repeat  for  the  world. 
I have  remarked,  however,  that  he  is  always  ex 
tremely  civil  to  her  when  they  meet. 


\ 


READY-MONEY  JACK. 


My  purse,  it  is  my  privy  wyfe, 

This  song  I dare  both  syng  and  say, 

It  keepeth  men  from  grievous  stryfe 
When  every  man  for  hymself  shall  pay 
As  I ryde  in  ryche  array 
For  gold  and  silver  men  wyll  me  floryshe  ; 

By  thys  matter  I dare  well  saye, 

Ever  gramercy  myne  owne  purse. 

Book  op  Hunting. 

N the  skirts  of  the  neighboring  village 
there  lives  a kind  of  small  potentate, 
who,  for  aught  I know,  is  a representa- 
tive of  one  of  the  most  ancient  legitimate  lines 
of  the  present  day ; for  the  empire  over  which 
he  reigns  has  belonged  to  his  family  time  out  of 
mind.  His  territories  comprise  a considerable 
number  of  good  fat  acres ; and  his  seat  of  power 
is  in  an  old  farm-house,  where  he  enjoys,  unmo- 
lested, the  stout  oaken  chair  of  his  ancestors. 
The  personage  to  whom  I allude  is  a sturdy  old 
yeoman  of  the  name  of  John  Tibbets,  or  rather 
Ready-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  as  he  is  called 
throughout  the  neighborhood. 

The  first  place  where  he  attracted  my  attention 
was  in  the  church-yard  on  Sunday;  where  he 
Bat  on  a tombstone  after  the  service,  with  his 


62 


BRACEBRIDGE  HAIL. 


hat  a little  on  one  side,  holding  forth  to  a small 
circle  of  auditors  ; and,  as  I presumed,  expound 
ing  the  law  and  the  prophets ; until,  on  drawing 
a little  nearer,  I found  he  was  only  expatiating 
on  the  merits  of  a brown  horse.  He  presented 
so  faithful  a picture  of  a substantial  English  yeo- 
man, such  as  he  is  often  described  in  books,  height- 
ened, indeed,  by  some  little  finery  peculiar  to 
himself,  that  I could  not  but  take  note  of  his 
whole  appearance. 

He  was  between  fifty  and  sixty,  of  a strong, 
muscular  frame,  and  at  least  six  feet  high,  with  a 
physiognomy  as  grave  as  a lion’s,  and  set  off  with 
short,  curling,  iron-gray  locks.  His  shirt-collar 
was  turned  down,  and  displayed  a neck  covered 
with  the  same  short,  curling,  gray  hair  ; and  he 
wore  a colored  silk  neck-cloth,  tied  very  loosely, 
and  tucked  in  at  the  bosom,  with  a green  paste 
brooch  on  the  knot.  His  coat  was  of  dark-green 
cloth,  with  silver  buttons,  on  each  of  which  was 
engraved  a stag,  with  his  own  name,  John  Tib- 
bets,  underneath.  He  had  an  inner  waistcoat  of 
figured  chintz,  between  which  and  his  coat  was 
another  of  scarlet  cloth,  unbuttoned.  His  breeches 
were  also  left  unbuttoned  at  the  knees,  not  from 
any  slovenliness,  but  to  show  a broad  pair  of 
scarlet  garters.  His  stockings  were  blue,  with 
white  clocks  ; he  wore  large  silver  shoe-buckles  ; 
a broad  paste  buckle  in  his  hatband ; his  sleeve- 
buttons  were  gold  seven-shilling  pieces ; and  he 
had  two  or  three  guineas  hanging  as  ornaments 
to  his  watch-chain. 

On  making  some  inquiries  about  him,  I gath- 


R1CADY-MUNEY  JACK 


63 


ered,  that  he  was  descended  from  a line  of  farmers 
that  had  always  lived  on  the  same  spot,  and  owned 
the  same  property ; and  that  half  of  the  church- 
yard was  taken  up  with  the  tombstones  of  his  race, 
He  has  all  his  life  been  an  important  character 
in  the  place.  When  a youngster  he  was  one  of 
the  most  roaring  blades  of  the  neighborhood. 
No  one  could  match  him  at  wrestling,  pitching 
the  bar,  cudgel  play,  and  other  athletic  exercises. 
Like  the  renowned  Pinner  of  Wakefield,  he  was 
the  village  champion  ; carried  off  the  prize  at  all 
the  fairs,  and  threw  his  gauntlet  at  the  country 
round.  Even  to  this  day  the  old  people  talk  of 
his  prowess,  and  undervalue,  in  comparison,  all 
heroes  of  the  green  that  have  succeeded  him  ; nay, 
they  say,  that  if  Peady-Money  Jack  were  to  take 
the  field  even  now,  there  is  no  one  could  stand 
before  him. 

.When  Jack’s  father  died,  the  neighbors  shook 
their  heads,  and  predicted  that  young  hopeful 
would  soon  make  way  with  the  old  homestead ; 
but  Jack  falsified  all  their  predictions.  The  mo- 
ment he  succeeded  to  the  paternal  farm,  he  assumed 
a new  character : took  a wife  ; attended  resolutely 
to  his  affairs,  and  became  an  industrious,  thrifty 
farmer.  With  the  family  property  he  inherited 
a set  of  old  family  maxims,  to  which  he  steadily 
adhered.  Pie  saw  to  everything  himself ; put  his 
own  hand  to  the  plough ; worked  hard ; ate 
heartily ; slept  soundly  ; paid  for  everything  in 
cash  down  ; and  never  danced  except  he  could  do 
it  to  the  music  of  his  own  money  in  both  pockets. 
He  has  never  been  without  a hundred  or  two 


64 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


pounds  in  gold  by  him,  and  never  allows  a debt 
to  stand  unpaid.  This  has  gained  him  hij«  cur- 
rent name,  of  which,  by  the  by,  he  is  a tittle 
proud  ; and  has  caused  him  to  be  looked  upon 
as  a very  wealthy  man  by  all  the  village. 

Notwithstanding  his  thrift,  however,  hn  has 
never  denied  himself  the  amusements  of  liir/,  but 
has  taken  a share  in  every  passing  pleasure.  It 
is  his  maxim,  that  “ he  that  works  hard  can  af- 
ford to  play.”  He  is,  therefore,  an  attendant  at 
all  the  country  fairs  and  wakes,  and  has  Signal- 
ized himself  by  feats  of  strength  and  prowess  on 
every  village  green  in  the  shire.  He  often  makes 
his  appearance  at  horse-races,  and  sports  his  half- 
guinea, and  even  his  guinea  at  a time ; keeps  a 
good  horse  for  his  own  riding,  and  to  this  day  is 
fond  of  following  the  hounds,  and  is  generally  in 
at  the  death.  He  keeps  up  the  rustic  revels,  and 
hospitalities  too,  for  which  his. paternal  farm-house 
has  always  been  noted ; has  plenty  of  good  cheer 
and  dancing  at  harvest-home,  and,  above  all,  keeps 
the  “ merry  night,”  * as  it  is  termed,  at  Christ- 
mas. 

With  all  his  love  of  amusement,  however,  Jack 
is  by  no  means  a boisterous  jovial  companion. 
He  is  seldom  known  to  laugh  even  in  the  midst 
of  his  gayety ; but  maintains  the  same  grave, 
lion-like  demeanor.  He  is  very  slow  at  compre- 

* Merry  Night.  A rustic  merry  making  in  a farm-house 
about  Christmas,  common  in  some  parts  of  Yorkshire.  There 
is  abundance  of  homely  fare,  tea,  cakes,  fruit,  and  ale;  various 
feats  of  agility,  amusing  games,  romping,  dancing,  and  kiss- 
ing withal.  They  commonly  break  up  at  midnight. 


READY-MONEY  JACK. 


65 


Lending  a joke  ; and  is  apt  to  sit  puzzling  at  it, 
with  a perplexed  look,  while  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany is  in  a roar.  This  gravity  has,  perhaps, 
grown  on  him  with  the  growing  weight  of  his 
character  ; for  he  is  gradually  rising  into  patri- 
archal dignity  in  his  native  place.  Though  he  no 
longer  takes  an  active  part  in  athletic  sports,  he 
always  presides  at  them,  and  is  appealed  to  on  all 
occasions  as  umpire.  He  maintains  the  peace  on 
the  village  green  at  holiday  games,  and  quells  all 
brawls  and  quarrels  by  collaring  the  parties  and 
shaking  them  heartily,  if  refractory.  No  one 
ever  pretends  to  raise  a hand  against  him,  or  to 
contend  against  his  decisions ; the  young  men 
have  grown  up  in  habitual  awe  of  his  prowess, 
and  in  implicit  deference  to  him  as  the  champion 
and  lord  of  the  green. 

He  is  a regular  frequenter  of  the  village  inn, 
the  landlady  having  been  a sweetheart  of  his  in 
early  life,  and  he  having  always  continued  on  kind 
terms  with  her.  He  seldom,  however,  drinks  any- 
thing but  a draught  of  ale  ; smokes  his  pipe,  and 
pays  his  reckoning  before  leaving  the  tap-room. 
Here  he  “ gives  his  little  senate  laws  ” ; decides 
bets,  which  are  very  generally  referred  to  him  ; 
determines  upon  the  characters  and  qualities  of 
horses  ; and,  indeed,  plays  now  and  then  the  part 
of  a judge,  in  settling  petty  disputes  between 
neighbors,  which  otherwise  might  have  been  nursed 
by  country  attorneys  into  tolerable  law-suits. 
Jack  is  very  candid  and  impartial  in  his  decisions, 
but  he  has  not  a head  to  carry  a long  argument, 
and  is  very  apt  to  get  perplexed  and  out  of  pa- 


6G 


BRACEBlilDijE  HALL. 


tience  if  there  is  much  pleading.  He  generally 
breaks  through  the  argument  with  a strong  voice, 
and  brings  matters  to  a summary  conclusion  by 
pronouncing  what  he  calls  the  “ upshot  of  the 
business,”  or,  in  other  words,  “ the  long  and  the 
short  of  the  matter.” 

Jack  made  a journey  to  London  a great  many 
years  since,  which  has  furnished  him  with  topics 
of  conversation  ever  since.  He  saw  the  old  king 
on  the  terrace  at  Windsor,  who  stopped,  and 
pointed  him  out  to  one  of  the  princesses,  being 
probably  struck  with  Jack’s  truly  yeomanlike  ap- 
pearance. This  is  a favorite  anecdote  with  him, 
and  has  no  doubt  had  a great  effect  in  making 
him  a most  loyal  subject  ever  since,  in  spite  of 
taxes  and  poors’  rates.  He  was  also  at  Bartholo- 
mew fair,  where  he  had  half  the  buttons  cut  off 
his  coat ; and  a gang  of  pickpockets,  attracted  by 
his  external  show  of  gold  and  silver,  made  a reg- 
ular attempt  to  hustle  him  as  he  was  gazing  at 
a show  ; but  for  once  they  caught  a tartar,  for 
Jack  enacted  as  great  wonders  among  the  gang 
as  Samson  did  among  the  Philistines.  One  of 
his  neighbors,  who  had  accompanied  him  to  town, 
and  was  with  him  at  the  fair,  brought  back  an 
account  of  his  exploits,  which  raised  the  pride  of 
the  whole  village  ; who  considered  their  cham- 
pion as  having  subdued  all  London,  and  eclipsed 
the  achievements  of  Friar  Tuck,  or  even  the  re- 
nowned Robin  Hood  himself. 

Of  late  years  the  old  fellow  has  begun  to  take 
the  world  easily  ; he  works  less,  and  indulges  in 
greater  leisure,  his  son  having  grown  up.  and  sue- 


READ  Y-M  ONE  Y JA  CK. 


67 


seeded  to  him  both  in  the  labors  of  the  farm 
and  the  exploits  of  the  green.  Like  all  sons  of 
distinguished  men,  however,  his  father’s  renown 
is  a disadvantage  to  him,  for  he  can  never  come 
up  to  public  expectation.  Though  a fine  active 
fellow  of  three-and-twenty,  and  quite  the  “ cock 
of  the  walk,”  yet  the  old  people  declare  he  is 
nothing  like  what  Ready-Money  Jack  was  at  his 
time  of  life.  The  youngster  himself  acknowledges 
his  inferiority,  and  has  a wonderful  opinion  of  the 
old  man,  who  indeed  taught  him  ail  his  athletic 
accomplishments,  and  holds  such  a sway  over  him, 
that,  I am  told,  even  to  this  day,  he  would  have 
no  hesitation  to  take  him  in  hands,  if  he  rebelled 
against  paternal  government. 

The  Squire  holds  Jack  in  very  high  esteem, 
and  shows  him  to  all  his  visitors,  as  a specimen  of 
old  English  “ heart  of  oak.”  He  frequently  calls 
at  his  house,  and  tastes  some  of  his  home-brewed, 
which  is  excellent.  He  made  Jack  a present  of 
old  Tusser’s  “ Hundred  Points  of  good  Ilusband- 
rie,”  which  has  furnished  him  with  reading  ever 
since,  and  is  his  text-book  and  manual  in  all  agri- 
cultural and  domestic  concerns.  He  has  made 
dog’s  ears  at  the  most  favorite  passages,  and 
knows  many  of  the  poetical  maxims  by  heart. 

Tibbets,  though  not  a man  to  be  daunted  or 
fluttered  by  high  acquaintances,  and  though  he 
cherishes  a sturdy  independence  of  mind  and  man- 
ner, yet  is  evidently  gratified  by  the  attentions  of 
the  Squire,  whom  he  has  known  from  boyhood, 
and  pronounces  “ a true  gentleman  every  inch  of 
him.”  He  is,  also,  on  excellent  terms  with  Mas* 


68 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL, 


ter  Simon,  who  is  a kind  of  privy  counsellor  to 
the  family ; but  his  great  favorite  is  the  Oxonian, 
whom  he  taught  to  wrestle  and  play  at  quarter- 
staff  when  a boy,  and  considers  the  most  promift 
Lug  young  gentleman  in  the  whole  county. 


BACHELORS. 

The  Bachelor  most  joyfully 
In  pleasant  plight  doth  pass  his  dales 
Goodfellowship  and  companie 
He  doth  maintain  and  keep  alwaies.- 

Evan’s  Old  Ballads. 


HERE  is  no  character  in  the  comedy  of 
human  life  more  difficult  to  play  well 
than  that  of  an  old  Bachelor.  When  a 
single  gentleman,  therefore,  arrives  at  that  criti- 
cal period  when  he  begins  to  consider  it  an  imper- 
tinent question  to  be  asked  his  age,  I would  ad- 
vise him  to  look  well  to  his  ways.  This  period, 
it  is  true,  is  much  later  with  some  men  than  with 
others  ; I have  witnessed  more  than  once  the 
meeting  of  two  wrinkled  old  lads  of  this  kind, 
who  had  not  seen  each  for  several  years,  and 
have  been  amused  by  the  amicable  exchange  of 
compliments  on  each  other’s  appearance  that  takes 
place  on  such  occasions.  There  is  always  one 
invariable  observation  : “ Why,  bless  my  soul ! 
you  look  younger  than  when  last  I saw  you  ! ” 
Whenever  a man’s  friends  begin  to  compliment 
him  about  looking  young,  he  may  be  sure  that 
they  think  he  is  growing  old. 

I am  led  to  make  these  remarks  by  the  conduct 


70 


BRACBBRIDGE  HALL. 


of  Master  Simon  and  the  general,  who  have  be- 
come great  cronies.  As  the  former  is  the  young- 
est by  many  years,  he  is  regarded  as  quite  a 
youthful  blade  by  the  general,  who,  moreover, 
looks  upon  him  as  a man  of  great  wit  and  pro- 
digious acquirements.  I have  already  hinted 
that  Master  Simon  is  a family  beau,  and  consid- 
ered rather  a young  fellow  by  all  the  elderly  la- 
dies of  the  connection ; for  an  old  bachelor,  in  an 
old  family  connection,  is  something  like  an  actor 
in  a regular  dramatic  corps,  who  seems  to  “ flour- 
ish in  immortal  youth,”  and  will  continue  to  play 
the  Romeos  and  Rangers  for  half  a century  to- 
gether. 

Master  Simon,  too,  is  a little  of  the  chameleon, 
and  takes  a different  hue  with  every  different 
companion  : he  is  very  attentive  and  officious,  and 
somewhat  sentimental,  with  Lady  Lillycraft ; cop- 
ies out  little  namby-pamby  ditties  and  love-songs 
for  her,  and  draws  quivers,  and  doves,  and  darts, 
and  Cupids  to  be  worked  on  the  corners  of  her 
pocket-handkerchiefs.  He  indulges,  however,  in 
very  considerable  latitude  with  the  other  married 
ladies  of  the  family;  and  has  many  sly  pleasant- 
ries to  whisper  to  them,  that  provoke  an  equivo- 
cal laugh  and  a tap  of  the  fan.  But  when  he 
gets  among  young  company,  such  as  Frank  Brace- 
bridge,  the  Oxonian,  and  the  general,  he  is  apt  to 
put  on  the  mad  wag,  and  to  talk  in  a very  bache- 
lor-like strain  about  the  sex. 

In  this  he  has  been  encouraged  by  the  exam- 
ple of  the  general,  whom  he  looks  up  to  as  a man 
that  has  seen  the  world.  The  general,  in  fact, 


BACHELORS . 


71 


tells  shocking  stories  after  dinner,  when  the  la 
dies  have  retired,  which  he  gives  as  some  of  the 
choice  things  that  are  served  up  at  the  Mulli- 
gatawney  club  — a knot  of  boon  companions  in 
London.  He  also  repeats  the  fat  jokes  of  old 
Major  Pendergast,  the  wit  of  the  club,  and  which, 
though  the  gentleman  can  hardly  repeat  them  for 
laughing,  always  make  Mr.  Bracebridge  look 
grave,  he  having  a great  antipathy  to  an  indecent 
jest.  In  a word,  the  general  is  a complete  instance 
of  the  declension  in  gay  life,  by  which  a young 
man  of  pleasure  is  apt  to  cool  down  into  an  ob- 
scene old  gentleman. 

I saw  him  and  Master  Simon,  an  evening  or 
two  since,  conversing  with  a buxom  milkmaid  in 
a meadow  ; and  from  their  elbowing  each  other 
now  and  then,  and  the  generals  shaking  his  shoul- 
ders, blowing  up  his  cheeks,  and  breaking  out 
into  a short  fit  of  irrepressible  laughter,  I had  no 
doubt  they  were  playing  the  mischief  with  the  girl. 

As  I looked  at  them  through  a hedge,  I could 
not  but  think  they  would  have  made  a tolerable 
group  for  a modern  picture  of  Susannah  and  the 
two  elders.  It  is  true,  the  girl  seemed  in  no 
wise  alarmed  at  the  force  of  the  enemy  ; and  I 
question,  had  either  of  them  been  alone,  whether 
she  would  not  have  been  more  than  they  would 
have  ventured  to  encounter.  Such  veteran  rois- 
ters are  daring  wags  when  together,  and  will  put 
any  female  to  the  blush  with  their  jokes  ; but 
they  are  as  quiet  as  lambs  when  they  fall  singly 
into  the  clutches  of  a fine  woman. 

In  spite  of  the  generals  years,  he  evidently  is 


72 


BRA  CEB R ID  GE  HALL. 


a little  vain  of  his  person,  and  ambitious  of  con- 
quests. I have  observed  him  on  Sunday  in 
church,  eying  the  country  girls  most  suspicic/js- 
ly  ; and  have  seen  him  leer  upon  them  with  a 
downright  amorous  look,  even  when  he  has  been 
gallanting  Lady  Lilly  craft,  with  great  ceremony, 
through  the  church-yard;  The  general,  in  fact, 
is  a veteran  in  the  service  of  Cupid  rather  than 
of  Mars,  having  signalized  himself  in  all  the  gar- 
rison towns  and  country  quarters,  and  seen  ser- 
vice in  every  ball-room  of  England.  Not  a cel- 
ebrated beauty  but  he  has  laid  siege  to  ; and  if 
his  word  may  be  taken  in  a matter  wherein  no 
man  is  apt  to  be  over-veracious,  it  is  incredible 
the  success  he  has  had  with  the  fair.  At  present 
he  is  like  a worn-out  warrior,  retired  from  ser- 
vice, but  who  still  cocks  his  beaver  with  a mili- 
tary air,  and  talks  stoutly  of  fighting  whenevei 
he  comes  within  the  smell  of  gunpowder. 

I have  heard  him  speak  his  mind  very  freely 
over  his  bottle,  about  the  folly  of  the  captain  in 
taking  a wife ; as  he  thinks  a young  soldier 
should  care  for  nothing  but  his  “ bottle  and  kind 
landlady .”  But,  in  fact,  he  says,  the  service  on 
the  Continent  has  had  a sad  effect  upon  the  young 
men ; they  have  been  ruined  by  light  wines  and 
French  quadrilles.  “ They  ’ve  nothing,”  he  says, 
“ of  the  spirit  of  the  old  service.  There  are  none 
of  your  six-bottle  men  left,  that  were  the  souls 
t)f  a mess-dinner,  and  used  to  play  the  very  deuce 
among  the  women.” 

As  to  a bachelor,  the  general  affirms  that  he  is 
a free  and  easy  man,  with  no  baggage  to  take 


BACHELORS. 


73 


care  of  but  his  portmanteau ; but  a married  man, 
with  his  wife  hanging  on  his  arm,  always  puts 
him  in  mind  of  a chamber-candlestick,  with  its 
extinguisher  hitched  to  it.  I should  not  mind  all 
this  if  it  were  merely  confined  to  the  general ; 
but  I fear  he  will  be  the  ruin  of  my  friend,  Mas- 
ter Simon,  who  already  begins  to  echo  his  here- 
sies, and  to  talk  in  the  style  of  a gentleman  that 
has  seen  life,  and  lived  upon  the  town.  Indeed, 
the  general  seems  to  have  taken  Master  Simon 
in  hand,  and  talks  of  showing  him  the  lions  when 
he  comes  to  town,  and  of  introducing  him  to  a 
knot  of  choice  spirits  at  the  Mulligatawney  club  ; 
which,  I understand,  is  composed  of  old  nabobs, 
officers  in  the  Company’s  employ,  and  other  “ men 
of  Ind,”  that  have  seen  service  i n the  East,  and 
returned  home  burnt  out  with  curry,  and  touched 
with  the  liver-complaint.  They  have  their  reg- 
ular club,  where  they  eat  Mulligatawney  soup, 
smoke  the  hookah,  talk  about  Tippoo  Saib,  Ser- 
ingapatam,  and  tiger-hunting ; and  are  tediously 
agreeable  in  each  other’s  company. 


WIVES. 

Believe  me,  man,  there  is  no  greater  blisse 
Than  is  the  quiet  joy  of  loving  wife  ; 

Which  whoso  wants,  half  of  himselfe  doth  misse ; 

Friend  without  change,  playfellow  without  strife ; 

Food  without  fulnesse,  counsaile  without  pride. 

Is  this  sweet  doubling  of  our  single  life. 

Sir  P.  Sidney. 

HERE  is  so  much  talk  about  matrimony 
going  on  around  me,  in  consequence 
of  the  approaching  event  for  which  we 
mbled  at  the  Hall,  that  I confess  I find 
my  thoughts  singularly  exercised  on  the  subject. 
Indeed,  all  the  bachelors  of  the  establishment  seem 
to  be  passing  through  a kind  of  fiery  ordeal ; for 
Lady  Lillycraft  is  one  of  those  tender,  romance- 
read  dames  of  the  old  school,  whose  mind  is  filled 
with  flames  and  darts,  and  who  breathe  nothing 
but  constancy  and  wedlock.  She  is  forever  im- 
mersed in  the  concerns  of  the  heart,  and,  to  use 
a poetical  phrase,  is  perfectly  surrounded  by  u the 
purple  light  of  love.”  The  very  general  seems  to 
feel  the  influence  of  this  sentimental  atmosphere, 
to  melt  as  he  approaches  her  ladyship,  and,  for 
the  time,  to  forget  all  his  heresies  about  matri- 
mony and  the  sex. 

The  good  lady  is  generally  surrounded  by  little 


WIVES. 


75 


documents  of  her  prevalent  taste : novels  of  a 
tender  nature;  richly-bound  little  books  of  poe- 
try, that  are  filled  with  sonnets  and  love-tales, 
and  perfumed  with  rose-leaves ; and  she  has  al- 
ways an  album  at  hand,  for  which  she  claims  the 
contributions  of  all  her  friends.  On  looking 
over  this  last  repository  the  other  day,  I found  a 
series  of  poetical  extracts,  in  the  Squire’s  hand- 
writing, which  might  have  been  intended  as  mat- 
rimonial hints  to  his  ward.  I was  so  much  struck 
with  several  of  them,  that  I took  the  liberty  of 
copying  them  out.  They  are  from  the  old  play 
of  Thomas  Davenport,  published  in  1661,  entitled 
46  The  City  Night-Cap  ” ; in  which  is  drawn  out 
and  exemplified,  in  the  part  of  Abstemia,  the 
character  of  a patient  and  faithful  wife,  which  I 
think  might  vie  with  that  of  the  renowned  Gri- 
selda. 

I have  often  thought  it  a pity  that  plays  and 
novels  should  always  end  at  the  wedding,  and 
should  not  give  us  another  act,  and  another  vol- 
ume, to  let  us  know  how  the  hero  and  heroine 
conducted  themselves  when  married.  Their  main 
object  seems  to  be  merely  to  instruct  young  ladies 
how  to  get  husbands,  but  not  how  to  keep  them: 
now  this  last,  I speak  it  with  all  due  diffidence, 
appears  to  me  to  be  a desideratum  in  modern 
married  life.  It  is  appalling  to  those  who  have 
not  yet  adventured  into  the  holy  state,  to  see  how 
soon  the  flame  of  romantic  love  burns  out,  or 
rather  is  quenched  in  matrimony  ; and  how  de- 
plorably the  passionate  poetic  lover  declines  into 
the  phlegmatic,  prosaic  husband.  I am  inclined 


76 


BRA  CEBRJDGE  HALL. 


to  attribute  this  very  much  to  the  defect  just  men- 
tioned in  the  plays  and  novels,  which  form  so  im- 
portant a branch  of  study  of  our  young  ladies, 
and  which  teach  them  how  to  be  heroines,  but 
leave  them  totally  at  a loss  when  they  come  to 
be  wives.  The  play  from  which  the  quotations 
before  me  were  made,  however,  is  an  exception 
to  this  remark  ; and  I cannot  refuse  myself  the 
pleasure  of  adducing  some  of  them  for  the  benefit 
of  the  reader,  and  for  the  honor  of  an  old  writer, 
who  has  bravely  attempted  to  awaken  dramatic 
interest  in  favor  of  a woman,  even  after  she  was 
married ! 

The  following  is  a commendation  of  Abstemia 
to  her  husband  Lorenzo  : 

“ She ’s  modest,  but  not  sullen,  and  loves  silence ; 

Not  that  she  wants  apt  words,  (for  when  she  speaks, 

She  inflames  love  with  wonder,)  but  because 
She  calls  wise  silence  the  soul’s  harmony. 

She ’s  truly  chaste ; yet  such  a foe  to  coyness, 

The  poorest  call  her  courteous ; and  which  is  excellent. 
(Though  fair  and  young)  she  shuns  to  expose  herself 
To  the  opinion  of  strange  eyes.  She  either  seldom 
Or  never  walks  abroad  in  your  company. 

And  then  with  such  sweet  bashfulness,  as  if 

She  were  venturing  on  crack’d  ice,  and  takes  delight 

To  step  into  the  print  your  foot  hath  made, 

And  will  follow  you  whole  fields ; so  she  will  drive 
Tediousness  out  of  time  with  her  sweet  character.’* 

Notwithstanding  all  this  excellence,  Abstemia 
had  the  misfortune  to  incur  the  unmerited  jeal 
ousy  of  her  husband.  Instead,  however,  of  re- 
senting his  harsh  treatment  with  clamorous  up- 
braidings,  and  with  the  stormy  violence  of  high* 


WIVES. 


77 


windy  virtue,  by  which  the  sparks  of  anger  are 
so  often  blown  into  a flame,  she  endures  it  with 
the  meekness  of  conscious,  but  patient  virtue  ; 
and  makes  the  following  beautiful  appeal  to  a 
friend  who  has  witnessed  her  long-suffering  • 

“ Hast  thou  not  seen  me 

Bear  all  his  injuries,  as  the  ocean  suffers 
The  angry  bark  to  plough  thorough  her  bosom. 

And  yet  is  presently  so  smooth,  the  eye 

Cannot  perceive  where  the  wide  wound  was  made?  99 

Lorenzo,  being  wrought  on  by  false  representa- 
tions, at  length  repudiates  her.  To  the  last,  how- 
ever, she  maintains  her  patient  sweetness,  and  her 
love  for  him,  in  spite  of  his  cruelty.  She  de- 
plores his  error,  even  more  than  his  unkindness ; 
and  laments  the  delusion  which  has  turned  his 
very  affection  into  a source  of  bitterness.  There 
is  a moving  pathos  in  her  parting  address  to  Lo- 
renzo after  their  divorce  : 

“ Farewell,  Lorenzo, 

Whom  my  soul  doth  love:  if  you  e’er  marry, 

May  you  meet  a good  wife,  so  good  that  you 
May  not  suspect  her,  nor  may  she  be  worthy 
Of  your  suspicion : and  if  you  hear  hereafter 
That  I am  dead,  inquire  but  my  last  words, 

And  you  shall  know  that  to  the  last  I loved  you. 

And  when  you  walk  forth  with  your  second  choice 
Into  the  pleasant  fields,  and  by  chance  talk  of  me, 
Imagine  that  you  see  me,  lean  and  pale, 

Strewing  your  path  with  flowers 

But  may  she  never  live  to  pay  my  debts: 

If  but  in  thought  she  wrong  you,  may  she  die 
In  tlis  conception  of  the  injury. 

Fray  make  me  wealthy  with  one  kiss:  farewell,  sir: 

Let  it  not  grieve  you  when  you  shall  remember 
That  1 was  innocent:  nor  this  forget, 


7b 


Bit  A CEBRIDGk  HALL. 


Though  innocence  here  suffer  sigh,  and  groan, 

She  walks  but  thorow  thorns  to  find  a throne.” 

In  a short  time  Lorenzo  discovers  his  error, 
and  the  innocence  of  his  injured  wife.  In  the 
transports  of  his  repentance  he  calls  to  mind  all 
her  feminine  excellence;  her  gentle,  uncomplain- 
ing, womanly  fortitude  under  wrongs  and  sor- 
rows : 


“ Oh  Abstemia ! 

II ow  lovely  thou  lookest  now ! now  thou  appearest 
Chaster  than  is  the  morning’s  modesty 
That  rises  with  a blush,  over  whose  bosom 
The  western  wind  creeps  softly;  now  I remember 
How,  when  she  sat  at  table,  her  obedient  eye 
W ould  dwell  on  mine,  as  if  it  were  not  well, 

Unless  it  look’d  where  I look’d:  oh  how  proud 
She  was,  when  she  could  cross  herself  to  please  me ! 

But  where  now  is  this  fair  soul  ? Like  a silver  cloud 
She  hath  wept  herself,  I fear,  into  the  dead  sea, 

And  will  be  found  no  more.” 

It  is  but  doing  right  by  the  reader,  if  interested 
in  the  fate  of  Abstemia  by  the  preceding  extracts, 
to  say,  that  she  was  restored  to  the  arms  and 
affections  of  her  husband,  rendered  fonder  than 
ever,  by  that  disposition  in  every  good  heart  to 
atone  for  past  injustice,  by  an  overflowing  meas- 
ure of  returning  kindness : 

“ Thou  wealth  worth  more  than  kingdoms ; I am  now 
Confirmed  past  all  suspicion ; thou  art  far 
Sweeter  in  thy  sincere  truth  than  a sacrifice 
Deck’d  up  for  death  with  garlands.  The  Indian  winds 
That  blow  from  off  the  coast,  and  cneer  the  sailor 
With  the  sweet  savor  of  their  spices,  want 
The  delight  flows  in  thoe.” 


\V1  VES. 


79 


I have  been  more  affected  and  interested  by 
this  little  dramatic  picture  than  by  many  a pop- 
ular love-tale  ; though,  as  I said  before,  I do  not 
think  it  likely  either  Abstemia  or  patient  Grizzle 
stands  much  chance  of  being  taken  for  a model. 
Still  I like  to  see  poetry  now  and  then  extending 
its  views  beyond  the  wedding-day,  and  teaching 
a lady  how  to  make  herself  attractive  even  after 
marriage.  There  is  no  great  need  of  enforcing 
on  an  unmarried  lady  the  necessity  of  being 
agreeable ; nor  is  there  any  great  art  requisite  in 
a youthful  beauty  to  enable  her  to  please.  Na- 
ture has  multiplied  attractions  around  her. 
Youth  is  in  itself  attractive.  The  freshness  of 
budding  beauty  needs  no  foreign  aid  to  set  it  off ; 
it  pleases  merely  because  it  is  fresh,  and  budding, 
and  beautiful.  But  it  is  for  the  married  state 
that  a woman  needs  the  most  instruction,  and  in 
which  she  should  be  most  on  her  guard  to  main- 
tain her  powers  of  pleasing.  No  woman  can  ex- 
pect to  be  to  her  husband  all  that  he  fancied  her 
when  he  was  a lover.  Men  are  always  doomed 
to  be  duped,  not  so  much  by  the  arts  of  the  sex 
as  by  their  own  imaginations.  They  are  always 
wooing  goddesses,  and  marrying  mere  mortals. 
A.  woman  should  therefore  ascertain  what  was 
the  charm  which  rendered  her  so  fascinating  when 
a girl,  and  endeavor  to  keep  it  up  when  she 
has  become  a wife.  One  great  thing  undoubt- 
edly was,  the  chariness  of  herself  and  her  con- 
duct, which  an  unmarried  female  always  ob- 
serves. She  should  maintain  the  same  niceness 
and  reserve  in  her  person  and  habits,  and  en- 


80 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


deavor  still  to  preserve  a freshness  and  virgin 
delicacy  in  the  eye  of  her  husband.  She  should 
remember  that  the  province  of  woman  is  to  be 
wooed,  not  to  woo ; to  be  caressed,  not  to  caress. 
Man  is  an  ungrateful  being  in  love ; bounty  loses 
instead  of  winning  him.  The  secret  of  a wom- 
an’s power  does  not  consist  so  much  in  giving  as 
in  withholding.  A woman  may  give  up  too  much 
even  to  her  husband.  It  is  to  a thousand  little 
delicacies  of  conduct  that  she  must  trust  to  keep 
alive  passion,  and  to  protect  herself  from  that 
dangerous  familiarity,  that  thorough  acquaintance 
with  every  weakness  and  imperfection  incident  to 
matrimony.  By  these  means  she  may  still  main- 
tain her  power,  though  she  has  surrendered  her 
person,  and  may  continue  the  romance  of  love 
even  beyond  the  honey-moon. 

“ She  that  hath  a wise  husband,”  says  Jeremy 
Taylor,  “ must  entice  him  to  an  eternal  dearnesse 
by  the  veil  of  modesty,  and  the  grave  robes  of 
chastity,  the  ornament  of  meeknesse,  and  the 
jewels  of  faith  and  charity.  She  must  have  no 
painting  but  blushings ; her  brightness  must  be 
purity,  and  she  must  shine  round  about  with 
sweetnesses  and  friendship ; and  she  shall  be 
pleasant  while  she  lives,  and  desired  when  she 
dies.” 

I have  wandered  into  a rambling  series  of 
remarks  on  a trite  subject,  and  a dangerous  one 
for  a bachelor  to  meddle  with.  That  I may  not, 
however,  appear  to  confine  my  observations  en- 
tirely to  the  wife,  I will  conclude  with  another 
quotation  from  Jeremy  Taylor,  in  which  the 


WIVES. 


81 


dutie»  of  Dotn  parties  are  mentioned ; while  I 
would  recommend  his  sermon  on  the  marriage 
ring  to  all  those  who,  wiser  than  myself,  are 
about  entering  the  happy  state  of  wedlock. 

“ There  is  scarce  any  matter  of  duty  but  it 
concerns  them  both  alike,  and  is  only  distinguished 
by  names,  and  hath  its  variety  by  circumstances 
and  little  accidents  : and  what  in  one  is  called 
love,  in  the  other  is  called  reverence ; and  what 
in  the  wife  is  obedience,  the  same  in  the  man  is 
duty.  He  provides,  and  she  dispenses  ; he  gives 
commandments,  and  she  rules  by  them ; he  rules 
her  by  authority,  and  she  rules  him  by  love ; she 
ought  by  all  means  to  please  him,  and  he  must 
by  no  means  displease  her.” 


6 


STORY-TELLING. 


FAVORITE  evening  pastime  at  the 
Hall,  and  one  which  the  worthy  Squire 
is  fond  of  promoting,  is  story-telling, 
“ a good  old-fashioned  fireside  amusement,”  as  he 
terms  it.  Indeed,  I believe  he  promotes  it  chiefly 
because  it  was  one  of  the  choice  recreations  in 
those  days  of  yore  when  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  not  much  in  the  habit  of  reading.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  he  will  often,  at  supper-table,  when 
conversation  flags,  call  on  some  one  or  other  of 
the  company  for  a story,  as  it  was  formerly  the 
custom  to  call  for  a song ; and  it  is  edifying  to 
see  the  exemplary  patience,  and  even  satisfaction, 
with  which  the  good  old  gentleman  will  sit  and 
listen  to  some  hackneyed  tale  that  he  has  heard 
for  at  least  a hundred  times. 

In  this  way  one  evening  the  current  of  anec- 
dotes and  stories  ran  upon  mysterious  personages 
that  have  figured  at  different  times,  and  filled  the 
world  with  doubts  and  conjecture  ; such  as  the 
Wandering  Jew,  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask, 
who  tormented  the  curiosity  of  all  Europe ; the 
Invisible  Girl,  and  last,  though  not  least,  the  Pig- 
faced Lady. 

At  length  one  of  the  company  was  called  upon 


STORY-TELLING. 


83 


who  had  the  most  unpromising  physiognomy  for 
a story-teller  that  ever  I had  seen.  He  was  a 
thin,  pale,  weazen -faced  man,  extremely  nervous, 
who  had  sat  at  one  corner  of  the  table,  shrunk 
up,  as  it  were,  into  himself,  and  almost  swallowed 
up  in  the  cape  of  his  coat,  as  a turtle  in  its  shell. 

The  very  demand  seemed  to  throw  him  into 
a nervous  agitation,  yet  he  did  not  refuse.  He 
emerged  his  head  out  of  his  shell,  made  a few 
odd  grimaces  and  gesticulations,  before  he  could 
get  his  muscles  into  order,  or  his  voice  under 
command,  and  then  offered  to  give  some  account 
of  a mysterious  personage  whom  he  had  recently 
encountered  in  the  course  of  his  travels,  and  one 
whom  he  thought  fully  entitled  of  being  classed 
with  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask. 

I was  so  much  struck  with  his  extraordina- 
ry narrative,  that  I have  written  it  out  to  the 
best  of  my  recollection,  for  the  amusement  of 
the  reader.  I think  it  has  in  it  all  the  elements 
of  that  mysterious  and  romantic  narrative  so 
greedily  sought  after  at  the  present  day 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 

A STAGE-OOACH  ROMANCE. 

I ’ll  cross  it  though  it  blast  me ! 

Hamlet. 


f|T  was  a rainy  Sunday  in  the  gloomy 
month  of  November.  I had  been  de- 
tained, in  the  course  of  a journey,  by 
a slight  indisposition,  from  which  I was  recover- 
ing ; but  was  still  feverish,  and  obliged  to  keep 
within  doors  all  day,  in  an  inn  of  the  small  town 
of  Derby.  A wet  Sunday  in  a country  inn ! — 
whoever  has  had  the  luck  to  experience  one  can 
alone  judge  of  my  situation.  The  rain  pattered 
against  the  casements ; the  bells  tolled  for  church 
with  a melancholy  sound.  I went  to  the  win- 
dows in  quest  of  something  to  amuse  the  eye  ; 
but  it  seemed  as  if  I had  been  placed  completely 
out  of  the  reach  of  all  amusement.  The  windows 
of  my  bedroom  looked  out  among  tiled  roofs  and 
stacks  of  chimneys,  while  those  of  my  sitting-room 
commanded  a full  view  of  the  stable-yard.  I 
know  of  nothing  more  calculated  to  make  a man 
sick  of  this  world  than  a stable-yard  on  a rainy 
day.  The  place  was  littered  with  wet  straw  that 
had  been  kicked  about  by  travellers  and  stable* 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN . 


85 


boys.  In  one  corner . was  a stagnant  pool  of 
water,  surrounding  an  island  of  muck ; there 
were  several  half-drowned  fowls  crowded  together 
under  a cart,  among  which  was  a miserable,  crest- 
fallen cock,  drenched  out  of  all  life  and  spirit  ; 
his  drooping  tail  matted,  as  it  were,  into  a single 
feather,  along  which  the  water  trickled  from  his 
back ; near  the  cart  was  a half-dozing  cow,  chew- 
ing the  cud,  and  standing  patiently  to  be  rained 
on,  with  wreaths  of  vapor  rising  from  her  reek- 
ing hide  ; a wall-eyed  horse,  tired  of  the  loneliness 
of  the  stable,  was  poking  his  spectral  head  out 
of  a window,  with  the  rain  dripping  on  it  from 
the  eaves ; an  unhappy  cur,  chained  to  a dog- 
house hard  by,  uttered  something,  every  now  and 
then,  between  a bark  and  a yelp  ; a drab  of  a 
kitchen-wench  tramped  backwards  and  forwards 
through  the  yard  in  pattens,  looking  as  sulky  as 
the  weather  itself ; everything,  in  short,  was  com- 
fortless and  forlorn,  excepting  a crew  of  hardened 
ducks,  assembled  like  boon  companions  round  a 
puddle,  and  making  a riotous  noise  over  their 
liquor. 

I was  lonely  and  listless,  and  wanted  amuse- 
ment. My  room  soon  became  insupportable.  I 
abandoned  it,  and  sought  what  is  technically 
called  the  travellers’-room.  This  is  a public 
room  set  apart  at  most  inns  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  a class  of  wayfarers  called  travellers,  01 
riders  ; a kind  of  commercial  knights-errant,  who 
are  incessantly  scouring  the  kingdom  in  gigs,  on 
horseback,  or  by  coach.  They  are  the  only  suc- 
cessors that  I know  of  at  the  present  day  to  tho 


1 

j 

36  BRACEBRIDGE  II ALL. 

knights- errant  of  yore.  They  lead  the  same 
kind  of  roving,  adventurous  life,  only  changing 
the  lance  for  a driving-whip,  the  buckler  for  a 
pattern-card,  and  the  coat  of  mail  for  an  upper 
Benjamin.  Instead  of  vindicating  the  charms  of 
peerless  beauty,  they  rove  about,  spreading  the 
fame  and  standing  of  some  substantial  tradesman, 
or  manufacturer,  and  are  ready  at  any  time  tc 
bargain  in  his  name  ; it  being  the  fashion  nowa- 
days to  trade,  instead  of  fight,  with  one  another. 
As  the  room  of  the  hostel,  in  the  good  old  fight- 
ing-times, would  be  hung  round  at  night  with 
the  armor  of  way-worn  warriors,  such  as  coats 
of  mail,  falchions,  and  yawning  helmets,  so  the 
travellers’-room  is  garnished  with  the  harnessing 
of  their  successors,  with  box-coats,  whips  of  all 
kinds,  spurs,  gaiters,  and  oil-cloth  covered  hats. 

I was  in  hopes  of  finding  some  of  these  wor- 
thies to  talk  with,  but  was  disappointed.  There 
were,  indeed,  two  or  three  in  the  room ; but  I 
could  make  nothing  of  them.  One  was  just  fin- 
ishing his  breakfast,  quarrelling  with  his  bread 
and  butter,  and  huffing  the  waiter ; another  but- 
toned on  a pair  of  gaiters,  with  many  execrations 
at  Boots  for  not  having  cleaned  his  shoes  well ; 
a third  sat  drumming  on  the  table  with  his  fin- 
gers and  looking  at  the  rain  as  it  streamed  down 
the  window-glass ; they  all  appeared  infected  by 
the  weather,  and  disappeared,  one  after  the  other, 
without  exchanging  a word. 

I sauntered  to  the  window,  and  stood  gazing 
at  the  people,  picking  their  way  to  church,  with 
petticoats  hoisted  midleg  high,  and  dripping  um- 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 


87 


brellas.  * The  bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  the  streets 
became  silent.  I then  amused  myself  with  watch- 
ing the  daughters  of  a tradesman  opposite  ; who, 
being  confined  to  the  house  for  fear  of  wetting 
their  Sunday  finery,  played  off  their  charms  at 
the  front  windows,  to  fascinate  the  chance  ten- 
ants of  the  inn.  They  at  length  were  summoned 
away  by  a vigilant  vinegar-faced  mother,  and  I 
had  nothing  further  from  without  to  amuse  me. 

What  was  I to  do  to  pass  away  the  long-lived 
day  ? I was  sadly  nervous  and  lonely ; and 
everything  about  an  inn  seems  calculated  to  make 
a dull  day  ten  times  duller.  Old  newspapers, 
smelling  of  beer  and  tobacco-smoke,  and  which 
I had  already  read  half  a dozen  times.  Good- 
for-nothing  books,  that  were  worse  than  rainy 
weather.  I bored  myself  to  death  with  an  old 
volume  of  the  Lady’s  Magazine.  I read  all  the 
commonplace  names  of  ambitious  travellers  scrawl- 
ed on  the  panes  of  glass  ; the  eternal  families  of 
the  Smiths,  and  the  Browns,  and  the  Jacksons, 
and  the  Johnsons,  and  all  the  other  sons ; and  I 
deciphered  several  scraps  of  fatiguing  inn-win- 
dow  poetry  which  I have  met  with  in  all  parts  of 
the  world. 

The  day  continued  lowering  and  gloomy  ; the 
slovenly,  ragged,  spongy  cloud  drifted  heavily 
along  ; there  was  no  variety  even  in  the  rain  : 
it  was  one  dull,  continued,  monotonous  patter  — • 
patter  — patter,  excepting  that  now  and  then  I 
was  enlivened  by  the  idea  of  a brisk  shower, 
from  the  rattling  of  the  drops  upon  a passing 
umbrella. 


88  ' 


BRA  CEBRID  GE  HALL .. 


It  was  quite  refreshing  (if  I may  be  allowed  a 
hackneyed  phrase  of  the  day)  when,  in  the  course 
of  the  morning,  a horn  blew,  and  a stage-coach 
whirled  through  the  street,  with  outside  passen 
gers  stuck  all  over  it,  cowering  under  cotton  um- 
brellas, and  seethed  together,  and  reeking  with 
(lie  steams  of  wet  box-coats  and  upper  Benjamins, 

The  sound  brought  out  from  their  lurking- 
places  a crew  of  vagabond  boys,  and  vagabond 
dogs,  and  the  carroty-headed  hostler,  and  that 
nondescript  animal  ycleped  Boots,  and  all  the 
other  vagabond  race  that  infest  the  purlieus  of  an 
inn ; but  the  bustle  was  transient ; the  coach 
again  whirled  on  its  way ; and  boy  and  dog,  and 
hostler  and  Boots,  all  slunk  back  again  to  their 
holes  ; the  street  again  became  silent,  and  the 
rain  continued  to  rain  on.  In  fact,  there  was  no 
hope  of  its  clearing  up ; the  barometer  pointed  to 
rainy  weather ; mine  hostess’s  tortoise-shell  cat 
sat  by  the  fire  washing  her  face,  and  rubbing  her 
paws  over  her  ears  ; and,  on  referring  to  the  Al- 
manac, I found  a direful  prediction  stretching  from 
the  top  of  the  page  to  the  bottom  through  the 
whole  month,  “ expect  — much  — rain  — about  — 
this  — time  ! ” 

I was  dreadfully  hipped.  The  hours  seemed 
as  if  they  would  never  creep  by.  The  very  tick- 
ing of  the  clock  became  irksome.  At  length  the 
stillness  of  the  house  was  interrupted  by  the  ring- 
ing of  a bell.  Shortly  after  I heard  the  voice  of 
a waiter  at  the  bar : “ The  stout  gentleman  in 
No.  18  wants  his  breakfast.  Tea  and  bread  and 
butter,  with  ham  and  eggs  ; the  eggs  not  to  be 
too  much  done.” 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 


39 


In  such  a situation  as  mine,  every  incident  is 
of  importance.  Here  was  a subject  of  specula- 
tion presented  to  my  mind,  and  ample  exercise 
for  my  imagination.  I am  prone  to  paint  pic- 
tures to  myself,  and  on  this  occasion  I had  some 
materials  to  work  upon.  Had  the  guest  up-stairs 
been  mentioned  as  Mr.  Smith,  or  Mr.  Brown,  or 
Mr.  Jackson,  or  Mr.  Johnson,  or  merely  as  “ the 
gentleman  in  No.  13,”  it  would  have  been  a per- 
fect blank  to  me.  I should  have  thought  nothing 
of  it ; but  “ The  stout  gentleman  ! ” — the  very 
name  had  something  in  it  of  the  picturesque.  It 
at  once  gave  the  size  ; it  embodied  the  personage 
to  my  mind’s  eye,  and  my  fancy  did  the  rest. 

He  was  stout,  or,  as  some  term  it,  lusty ; in 
all  probability,  therefore,  he  was  advanced  in  life, 
some  people  expanding  as  they  grow  old.  By 
his  breakfasting  rather  late,  and  in  his  own  room, 
he  must  be  a man  accustomed  to  live  at  his  ease, 
and  above  the  necessity  of  early  rising  ; no  doubt 
a round,  rosy,  lusty  old  gentleman. 

There  was  another  violent  ringing.  The  stout 
gentleman  was  impatient  for  his  breakfast.  He 
was  evidently  a man  of  importance ; “ well  to  do 
in  the  world  ; ” accustomed  to  be  promptly  waited 
upon ; of  a keen  appetite,  and  a little  cross  when 
hungry  ; “ perhaps,”  thought  I,  “ he  may  be  some 
London  Alderman ; or  who  knows  but  he  may 
be  a Member  of  Parliament  ? ” 

The  breakfast  was  sent  up,  and  there  was  a 
short  interval  of  silence  ; he  was,  doubtless,  mak- 
ing the  tea.  Presently  there  was  a violent  ringing  ; 
and  before  it  could  be  answered,  another  ringing 


90 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


still  more  violent.  “ Bless  me  ! what  a choleric  old 
gentleman  ! ” The  waiter  came  down  in  a huff. 
The  butter  was  rancid,  the  eggs  were  overdone, 
the  ham  was  too  salt ; — the  stout  gentleman  was 
evidently  nice  in  his  eating ; one  of  those  who 
eat  and  growl,  and  keep  the  waiter  on  the  trot, 
and  live  in  a state  militant  with  the  house- 
hold. 

The  hostess  got  into  a fume.  I should  ob- 
serve that  she  was  a brisk,  coquettish  woman  ; a 
little  of  a shrew,  and  something  of  a slammerkin, 
but  very  pretty  withal ; with  a nincompoop  for  a 
husband,  as  shrews  are  apt  to  have.  She  rated 
the  servants  roundly  for  their  negligence  in  send- 
ing up  so  bad  a breakfast,  but  said  not  a word 
against  the  stout  gentleman ; by  which  I clearly 
perceived  that  he  must  be  a man  of  consequence, 
entitled  to  make  a noise  and  to  give  trouble  at  a 
country  inn.  Other  eggs,  and  ham,  and  bread 
and  butter  were  sent  up.  They  appeared  to  be 
more  graciously  received ; at  least  there  was  no 
further  complaint. 

I had  not  made . many  turns  about  the  travel- 
lers’ - room,  when  there  was  another  ringing. 
Shortly  afterwards  there  was  a stir  and  an  in- 
quest about  the  house.  The  stout  gentleman 
wanted  the  Times  or  the  Chronicle  newspaper, 
i set  him  down,  therefore,  for  a Whig ; or  rather, 
from  his  being  so  absolute  and  lordly  where  he 
had  a chance,  I suspected  him  of  being  a Radical. 
Runt,  I had  heard,  was  a large  man  ; “ who 
knows,”  thought  I,  “but  it  is  Hunt  himself!” 

My  curiosity  began  t ^ be  awakened.  I in 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 


91 


quired  of  the  waiter  who  was  this  stout  gentle- 
man that  was  making  all  this  stir ; but  I could 
get  no  information : nobody  seemed  to  know  his 
name.  The  landlords  of  bustling  inns  seldom 
trouble  their  heads  about  the  names  or  occupa- 
tions of  their  transient  guests.  The  color  of  a 
coat,  the  shape  or  size  of  the  person,  is  enough 
to  suggest  a travelling  name.  It  is  either  the 
tall  gentleman,  or  the  short  gentleman,  or  the 
gentleman  in  black,  or  the  gentleman  in  snuff- 
color;  or,  as  in  the  present  instance,  the  stout 
gentleman.  A designation  of  the  kind  once  hit 
on,  answers  every  purpose,  and  saves  all  further 
inquiry. 

Rain  — rain  — rain ! pitiless,  ceaseless  rain  ! 
No  such  thing  as  putting  a foot  out  of  doors, 
and  no  occupation  nor  amusement  within.  By 
and  by  I heard  some  one  walking  overhead.  It 
was  in  the  stout  gentleman’s  room.  He  evidently 
was  a large  man  by  the  heaviness  of  his  tread  ; 
and  an  old  man  from  his  wearing  such  creaking 
soles.  “ He  is  doubtless,”  thought  I,  “ some  rich 
old  square-toes  of  regular  habits,  and  is  now  tak- 
ing exercise  after  breakfast.” 

I now  read  all  the  advertisements  of  coaches 
and  hotels  that  were  stuck  about  the  mantelpiece. 
The  Lady’s  Magazine  had  become  an  abomina- 
tion to  me  ; it  was  as  tedious  as  the  day  itself. 
I wandered  out,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  and 
ascended  again  to  my  room.  I had  not  been 
there  long,  when  there  was  a squall  from  a neigh- 
boring bedroom.  A door  opened  and  slammed 
7iolently ; a chamber-maid,  that  I had  remarked 


92 


Bit  A CK  Bit  IDG  E HALL. 


for  having  a ruddy,  good-liumored  face,  went 
down  stairs  in  a violent  flurry.  The  stout  gentle- 
man had  been  rude  to  her ! 

This  sent  a whole  host  of  my  deductions  to  the 
deuce  in  a moment.  This  unknown  personage 
could  not  be  an  old  gentleman ; for  old  gentlemen 
are  not  apt  to  be  so  obstreperous  to  chamber-maids. 
He  could  not  be  a young  gentleman ; for  young 
gentlemen  are  not  apt  to  inspire  such  indignation , 
He  must  be  a middle-aged  man,  and  confounded 
ugly  into  the  bargain,  or  the  girl  would  not  have 
taken  the  matter  in  such  terrible  dudgeon.  I con- 
fess I was  sorely  puzzled. 

In  a few  minutes  I heard  the  voice  of  my 
landlady.  I caught  a glance  of  her  as  she  came 
tramping  up-stairs,  — her  face  glowing,  her  cap 
flaring,  her  tongue  wagging  the  whole  way. 
“ She ’d  have  no  such  doings  in  her  house,  she ’d 
warrant.  If  gentlemen  did  spend  money  freely, 
it  was  no  rule.  She ’d  have  no  servant-maids  of 
hers  treated  in  that  way,  when  they  were  about 
their  work,  that ’s  what  she  would  n’t.” 

As  I hate  squabbles,  particularly  with  women, 
and  above  all  with  pretty  women,  I slunk  back 
into  my  room,  and  partly  closed  the  door ; but 
my  curiosity  was  too  much  excited  not  to  lis- 
ten. The  landlady  marched  intrepidly  to  the 
enemy’s  citadel,  and  entered  it  with  a storm  : the 
door  closed  after  her.  I heard  her  voice  in  high 
windy  clamor  for  a moment  or  two.  Then  it 
gradually  subsided,  like  a gust  of  wind  in  a gar- 
ret ; then  there  was  a laugh  ; then  I heard  noth- 
ing more. 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN . 


93 


After  a little  while  my  landlady  came  out  with 
An  odd  smile  on  her  face,  adjusting  her  cap,  which 
was  a little  on  one  side.  As  she  went  down 
stairs,  1 heard  the  landlord  ask  her  what  was  the 
matter ; she  said,  “ Nothing  at  all,  only  the  girl ’s 
a fool”  — I was  more  than  ever  perplexed  what 
to  make  of  this  unaccountable  personage,  who 
could  put  a good-natured  chamber-maid  in  a pas- 
sion, and  send  away  a termagant  landlady  in 
smiles.  He  could  not  be  so  old,  nor  cross,  nor 
ugly  either. 

I had  to  go  to  work  at  his  picture  again,  and 
to  paint  him  entirely  different.  I now  set  him 
down  for  one  of  those  stout  gentlemen  that  are 
frequently  met  with  swaggering  about  the  doors 
of  country  inns.  Moist,  merry  fellows,  in  Belcher 
handkerchiefs,  whose  bulk  is  a little  assisted  by 
malt-liquors.  Men  who  have  seen  the  world,  and 
been  sworn  at  Highgate  ; who  are  used  to  tavern- 
life  ; up  to  all  the  tricks  of  tapsters,  and  knowing 
in  the  ways  of  sinful  publicans.  Free-livers  on 
a small  scale ; who  are  prodigal  within  the  com- 
pass of  a guinea ; who  call  all  the  waiters  by 
name,  tousle  the  maids,  gossip  with  the  landlady 
at  the  bar,  and  prose  over  a pint  of  port,  or  a 
glass  of  negus,  after  dinner. 

The  morning  wore  away  in  forming  these  and 
similar  surmises.  As  fast  as  I wove  one  system 
of  belief,  some  movement  of  the  unknown  would 
completely  overturn  it,  and  throw  all  my  thoughts 
again  into  confusion.  Such  are  the  solitary  oper- 
ations of  a feverish  mind.  I was,  as  I have  said, 
extremely  nervous ; and  the  continual  meditation 


94 


B RA  CEBR  flJGL  HA  LL . 


on  the  concerns  of  this  invisible  personage  began 
to  have  its  effect : — I was  getting  a fit  of  the 
fidgets. 

Dinner-time  came.  I hoped  the  stout  gentle- 
man might  dine  in  the  travellers’-room,  and  that 
I might  at  length  get  a view  of  his  person  ; but 
no  — he  had  dinner  served  in  his  own  room. 
What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  solitude  and 
mystery  ? He  could  not  be  a radical ; there  was 
something  too  aristocratical  in  thus  keeping  him- 
self apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  con- 
demning himself  to  his  own  dull  company  through- 
out a rainy  day.  And  then,  too,  he  lived  too  well 
for  a discontented  politician.  He  seemed  to  ex- 
patiate on  a variety  of  dishes,  and  to  sit  over  his 
wine  like  a jolly  friend  of  good  living.  Indeed, 
my  doubts  on  this  head  were  soon  at  an  end  ; for 
he  could  not  have  finished  his  first  bottle  before  I 
could  faintly  hear  him  humming  a tune  ; and  on 
listening  I found  it  to  be  “ God  save  the  King.” 
’T  was  plain,  then,  he  was  no  radical,  but  a 
faithful  subject ; one  who  grew  loyal  over  his  bot- 
tle, and  was  ready  to  stand  by  king  and  constitu- 
tion, when  he  could  stand  by  nothing  else.  But 
who  could  he  be  ? My  conjectures  began  to  run 
wild.  Was  he  not  some  personage  of  distinction 
travelling  incog.  ? “ God  knows  ! ” said  I,  at  my 

wit’s  end ; “ it  may  be  one  of  the  royal  family 
for  aught  I know,  for  they  are  all  stout  gentle- 
men ! ” 

The  weather  continued  rainy.  The  mysterious 
unknown  kept  his  room,  and,  as  far  as  I could 
judge,  his  chair  for  I did  not  hear  him  move 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 


95 


In  the  mean  time,  as  the  day  advanced,  the  trav- 
ellers’-room  began  to  be  frequented.  Some,  who 
had  just  arrived,  came  in  buttoned  up  in  box- 
coats  ; others  came  home  who  had  been  dispersed 
about  the  town  ; some  took  their  dinners,  and  some 
their  tea.  Had  I been  in  a different  mood,  I 
should  have  found  entertainment  in  studying  this 
peculiar  class  of  men.  There  were  two  espe- 
cially, who  were  regular  wags  of  the  road,  and  up 
to  all  the  standing  jokes  of  travellers.  They  had 
a thousand  sly  things  to  say  to  the  waiting-maid, 
whom  they  called  Louisa,  and  Ethelinda,  and  a 
dozen  other  fine  names,  changing  the  name  every 
time,  and  chuckling  amazingly  at  their  own  wag- 
gery. My  mind,  however,  had  been  completely 
engrossed  by  the  stout  gentleman.  He  had  kept 
my  fancy  in  chase  during  a long  day,  and  it  was 
not  now  to  be  diverted  from  the  scent. 

The  evening  gradually  wore  away.  The  trav- 
ellers read  the  papers  two  or  three  times  over. 
Some  drew  round  the  fire  and  told  long  stories 
about  their  horses,  about  their  adventures,  their 
overturns,  and  breakings-down.  They  discussed 
the  credit  of  different  merchants  and  different 
inns  ; and  the  two  wags  told  several  choice  anec- 
dotes of  pretty  chamber-maids  and  kind  land- 
ladies. All  this  passed  as  they  were  quietly 
taking  what  they  called  their  night-caps,  that 
is  to  say,  strong  glasses  of  brandy  and  water 
and  sugar,  or  some  other  mixture  of  the  kind  ; 
after  which  they  one  after  another  rang  for 
Boots  ” and  the  chamber-maid,  and  walked  off 
to  bed  in  old  shoes  cut  down  into  marvellously 
uncomfortable  slippers. 


96 


BRACEBRIDGE  ALALL. 


There  was  now  only  one  man  left:  a short- 
legged, long-bodied,  plethoric  fellow,  with  a very 
large,  sandy  head.  He  sat  by  himself,  with  a glass 
of  port-wine  negus,  and  a spoon ; sipping  and  stir- 
ring, and  meditating  and  sipping,  until  nothing 
was  left  but  the  spoon.  He  gradually  fell  asleep 
bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  with  the  empty  glass 
standing  before  him ; and  the  candle  seemed  to 
fall  asleep  too,  for  the  wick  grew  long,  and  black, 
and  cabbaged  at  the  end,  and  dimmed  the  little 
light  that  remained  in  the  chamber.  The  gloom 
that  now  prevailed  was  contagious.  Around  hung 
the  shapeless,  and  almost  spectral,  box-coats  of 
departed  travellers,  long  since  buried  in  deep 
sleep.  I only  heard  the  ticking  of  the  clock, 
with  the  deep-drawn  breathings  of  the  sleeping 
topers,  and  the  drippings  of  the  rain,  drop  — drop 
— drop,  from  the  eaves  of  the  house.  The 
church-bells  chimed  midnight.  All  at  once  the 
stout  gentleman  began  to  walk  overhead,  pacing 
slowly  backwards  and  forwards.  There  was 
something  extremely  awful  in  all  this,  especially 
to  one  in  my  state  of  nerves.  These  ghastly 
great-coats,  these  guttural  breathings,  and  the 
creaking  footsteps  of  this  mysterious  being.  His 
steps  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at  length  died 
away.  I could  bear  it  no  longer.  I was  wound 
up  to  the  desperation  of  a hero  of  romance.  “ Be 
lie  who  or  what  he  may,”  said  I to  myself,  u I ’ll 
have  a sight  of  him  ! ” I seized  a chamber- can- 
dle, and  hurried  up  to  No.  13.  The  door  stood 
ajar.  I hesitated  — I entered  : the  room  was 
deserted.  There  stood  a large,  broad-bottomed 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 


97 


elbow-chair  at  a table,  on  which  was  an  empty 
tumbler,  and  a “ Times,”  newspaper,  and  the  room 
smelt  powerfully  of  Stilton  cheese. 

The  mysterious  stranger  had  evidently  but  just 
retired.  I turned  off,  sorc]y  disappointed,  to  my 
room,  which  had  been  changed  to  the  front  of  the 
house.  As  I went  along  the  corridor,  I saw  a 
large  pair  of  boots,  with  dirty,  waxed  tops,  stand- 
ing at  the  door  of  a bedchamber.  They  doubt- 
less belonged  to  the  unknown  ; but  it  would  not 
do  to  disturb  so  redoubtable  a personage  in  his 
den : he  might  discharge  a pistol,  or  something 
worse,  at  my  head.  I went  to  bed,  therefore,  and 
lay  awake  half  the  night  in  a terribly  nervous 
state  ; and  even  when  I fell  asleep,  I was  still 
haunted  in  my  dreams  by  the  idea  of  the  stout 
gentleman  and  his  wax-topped  boots. 

I slept  rather  late  the  next  morning,  and  was 
awakened  by  some  stir  and  bustle  in  the  house, 
which  I could  not  at  first  comprehend  ; until  get- 
ting more  awake,  I found  there  was  a mail- 
coach  starting  from  the  door.  Suddenly  there 
was  a cry  from  below,  “ The  gentleman  has  for- 
got his  umbrella  ! Look  for  the  gentleman’s  um- 
brella in  No.  13  !”  I heard  an  immediate  scam- 
pering of  a chamber-maid  along  the  passage,  and 
a shrill  reply  as  she  ran,  “ Here  it  is ! here ’s  the 
gentleman’s  umbrella  ! ” 

The  mysterious  stranger  then  was  on  the  point 
of  setting  off.  This*  was  the  only  chance  I should 
ever  have  of  knowing  him.  I sprang  out  of  bed, 
scrambled  to  the  window,  snatched  aside  the  cur- 
tains, and  just  caught  a glimpse  of  the  rear  of  a 


98 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 


person  getting  in  at  the  coach-door.  The  skirts 
of  a brown  coat  parted  behind,  and  gave  me  a full 
view  of  the  broad  disk  of  a pair  of  drab  breeches. 
The  door  closed  — “ all  right ! ” was  the  word  — 
the  coach  whirled  off ; — and  that  was  all  I ever 
Baw  of  the  stout  gentleman ! 


FOREST  TREES. 

“ A living  gallery  of  aged  trees.’' 

NE  of  the  favorite  themes  of  boasting 
with  the  Squire  is  the  noble  trees  on  his 
estate,  which,  in  truth,  has  some  of  the 
finest  I have  seen  in  England.  There  is  some- 
thing august  and  solemn  in  the  great  avenues  of 
stately  oaks  that  gather  their  branches  together 
high  in  air,  and  seem  to  reduce  the  pedestrians 
beneath  them  to  mere  pigmies.  “ An  avenue  of 
oaks  or  elms,”  the  Squire  observes,  “ is  the  true 
colonnade  that  should  lead  to  a gentleman’s  house. 
As  to  stone  and  marble,  any  one  can  rear  them  at 
once,  they  are  the  work  of  the  day  ; but  com- 
mend me  to  the  colonnades  which  have  grown 
old  and  great  with  the  family,  and  tell  by  their 
grandeur  how  long  the  family  has  endured.” 

The  Squire  has  great  reverence  for  certain 
venerable  trees,  gray  with  moss,  which  he  con- 
siders as  the  ancient  nobility  of  his  domain. 
There  is  the  ruin  of  an  enormous  oak,  which  has 
been  so  much  battered  by  time  and  tempest,  that 
6carce  anything  is  left ; though  he  says  Christy 
recollects  when,  in  his  boyhpod,  it  was  healthy 
and  flourishing,  until  it  was  struck  by  lightning. 


100 


BRA  Ch  BRIDGE  IIALL. 


It  is  now  a mere  trunk,  with  one  twisted  bough 
stretching  up  into  the  air,  leaving  a green  branch 
at  the  end  of  it.  This  sturdy  wreck  is  much 
valued  by  the  Squire  ; he  calls  it  his  standard- 
bearer,  and  compares  it  to  a veteran  warrior 
beaten  down  in  battle,  but  bearing  up  his  banner 
to  the  last.  He  has  actually  had  a fence  built 
round  it,  to  protect  it  as  much  as  possible  from 
further  injury. 

It  is  with  great  difficulty  he  can  ever  be 
brought  to  have  any  tree  cut  down  on  his  estate. 
To  some  he  looks  with  reverence,  as  having  been 
planted  by  his  ancestors  ; to  others  with  a kind 
of  paternal  affection,  as  having  been  planted  by 
himself ; and  he  feels  a degree  of  awe  in  bring- 
ing down,  with  a few  strokes  of  the  axe,  what  it  has 
cost  centuries  to  build  up.  I confess  I cannot  but 
sympathize,  in  some  degree,  with  the  good  Squire 
on  the  subject.  Though  brought  up  in  a country 
overrun  with  forests,  where  trees  are  apt  to  be 
considered  mere  incumbrances,  and  to  be  laid  low 
without  hesitation  or  remorse,  yet  I could  never 
see  a fine  tree  hewn  down  without  concern. 
The  poets,  who  are  naturally  lovers  of  trees,  as 
they  are  of  everything  that  is  beautiful,  have 
artfully  awakened  great  interest  in  their  favor,  by 
representing  them  as  the  habitations  of  sylvan 
deities ; insomuch  that  every  great  tree  had  its 
tutelar  genius,  or  a nymph,  whose  existence  was 
limited  to  its  duration.  Evelyn,  in  his  “ Sylva,” 
makes  several  pleasing  and  fancilul  allusions  to 
this  superstition.  “ As  the  fall,”  says  he,  “ of  a 
very  aged  oak,  giving  a crack  like  thunder,  has 


FOREST  TREES. 


101 


often  been  heard  at  many  miles’  distance  ; con- 
strained though  I often  am  to  fell  them  with  re- 
luctance, I do  not  at  any  time  remember  to  have 
heard  the  groans  of  those  nymphs  (grieving  to 
be  dispossessed  of  their  ancient  habitations)  with- 
out some  emotion  and  pity.”  And  again,  in  al- 
luding to  a violent  storm  that  had  devastated  the 
woodlands,  he  says,  “ Me  thinks  I still  hear,  sure 
I am  that  I still  feel,  the  dismal  groans  of  our 
forests : the  late  dreadful  hurricane  having  sub- 
verted so  many  thousands  of  goodly  oaks,  pros- 
trating the  trees,  laying  them  in  ghastly  postures, 
like  whole  regiments  fallen  in  battle  by  the  sword 
of  the  conqueror,  and  crushing  k\\  that  grew  be- 
neath them.  The  public  accounts,”  he  adds, 
“ reckon  no  less  than  three  thousand  brave  oaks 
in  one  part  only  of  the  forest  of  Dean  blown 
down.” 

I have  paused  more  than  once  in  the  wilder- 
ness of  America,  to  contemplate  the  traces  of 
some  blast  of  wind,  which  seemed  to  have  rushed 
down  from  the  clouds,  and  ripped  its  way  through 
the  bosom  of  the  woodlands  ; rooting  up,  shivering, 
and  splintering  the  stoutest  trees,  and  leaving  a 
long  track  of  desolation.  There  was  something 
awful  in  the  vast  havoc  made  among  these  gigan- 
tic plants  ; and  in  considering  their  magnificent 
remains,  so  rudely  torn  and  mangled,  and  hurled 
down  to  perish  prematurely  on  their  native  soil,  1 
* was  conscious  of  a strong  movement  of  the  sym- 
pathy so  feelingly  expressed  by  Evelyn.  I recol- 
lect, also,  hearing  a traveller  of  poetical  temper- 
ament expressing  the  kind  of  horror  which  he 


102 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  BALL. 


felt  on  beholding,  on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri, 
an  oak  of  prodigious  size,  which  had  been,  in  a 
manner,  overpowered  by  an  enormous  wild  grape- 
vine. The  vine  had  clasped  its  huge  folds  round 
the  trunk,  and  thence  had  wound  about  every 
branch  and  twig,  until  the  mighty  tree  had  with- 
ered in  its  embrace.  It  seemed  like  Laocoon 
struggling  ineffectually  in  the  hideous  coils  of  the 
monster  Python.  It  was  the  lion  of  trees  per- 
ishing in  the  embraces  of  a vegetable  boa. 

I am  fond  of  listening  to  the  conversation  of 
English  gentlemen  on  rural  concerns,  and  of  no- 
ticing with  what  taste  and  discrimination,  and 
what  strong,  unaffected  interest  they  will  discuss 
topics  which,  in  other  countries,  are  abandoned  to 
mere  woodmen,  or  rustic  cultivators.  I have 
heard  a noble  earl  descant  on  park  and  forest 
scenery  with  the  science  and  feeling  of  a painter. 
He  dwelt  on  the  shape  and  beauty  of  particular 
trees  on  his  estate,  with  as  much  pride  and  techni- 
cal precision  as  though  he  had  been  discussing 
the  merits  of  statues  in  his  collection.  I found  that 
he  had  even  gone  considerable  distances  to  exam- 
ine trees  which  were  celebrated  among  rural 
amateurs  ; for  it  seems  that  trees,  like  horses,  have 
their  established  points  of  excellence  ; and  that 
there  are  some  in  England  which  enjoy  very  ex- 
tensive celebrity  among  tree-fanciers  from  being 
perfect  in  their  kind. 

There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in' 
such  a taste : it  argues,  I think,  a sweet  and  gen- 
erous nature,  to  have  this  strong  relish  for  the 
beauties  of  vegetation,  and  this  friendship  for  the 


FOREST  TREES . 


103 


hardy  and  glorious  sons  of  the  forest.  There  is 
a grandeur  of  thought  connected  with  this  part 
of  rural  economy.  It  is,  if  I may  be  allowed 
the  figure,  the  heroic  line  of  husbandry.  It  is 
worthy  of  liberal,  and  freeborn,  and  aspiring  men. 
He  who  plants  an  oak,  looks  forward  to  future 
ages,  and  plants  for  posterity.  Nothing  can  be 
less  selfish  than  this.  He  cannot  expect  to  sit 
in  its  shade,  nor  enjoy  its  shelter  ; but  he  exults 
in  the  idea  that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried 
in  the  earth  will  grow  up  into  a lofty  pile,  and 
keep  on  flourishing,  and  increasing,  and  benefit- 
ing mankind,  long  after  he  shall  have  ceased  to 
tread  his  paternal  fields.  Indeed,  it  is  the  nature 
of  such  occupations  to  lift  the  thoughts  above 
mere  worldliness.  As  the  leaves  of  trees  are 
said  to  absorb  all  noxious  qualities  of  the  air,  and 
to  breathe  forth  a purer  atmosphere,  so  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  they  drew  from  us  all  sordid  and  angry 
passions,  and  breathed  forth  peace  and  philan- 
thropy. There  is  a serene  and  settled  majesty  in 
woodland  scenery  that  enters  into  the  soul,  and 
dilates  and  elevates  it,  and  fills  it  with  noble  in- 
clinations. The  ancient  and  hereditary  groves, 
too,  which  embower  this  island,  are  most  of  them 
full  of  story.  They  are  haunted  by  the  recollec- 
tions of  great  spirits  of  past  ages,  who  have 
sought  for  relaxation  among  them  from  the  tu- 
mult of  arms,  or  the  toils  of  state,  or  have  wooed 
the  muse  beneath  their  shade.  Who  can  walk, 
with  soul  unmoved,  among  the  stately  groves  of 
Penshurst,  where  the  gallant,  the  amiable,  the  ele- 
gant Sir  Philip  Sidney  passed  his  boyhood ; or 


104 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


can  look  without  fondness  upon  the  tree  that  is 
said  to  have  been  planted  on  his  birthday  ; or  can 
ramble  among  the  classic  bowers  of  Hag  ley ; or 
can  pause  among  the  solitudes  of  Windsor  Forest 
and  look  at  the  oaks  around,  huge,  gray,  and  time- 
worn, like  the  old  castle-towers,  and  not  feel  as 
if  he  were  surrounded  by  so  many  monuments 
of  long-enduring  glory  ? It  is,  when  viewed  in 
this  light,  that  planted  groves,  and  stately  ave- 
nues, and  cultivated  parks,  have  an  advantage  over 
the  more  luxuriant  beauties  of  unassisted  nature. 
It  is  then  they  teem  with  moral  associations,  and 
keep  up  the  ever  - interesting  story  of  human 
existence. 

It  is  incumbent,  then,  on  the  high  and  gener- 
ous spirits  of  an  ancient  nation,  to  cherish  these 
sacred  groves  which  surround  their  ancestral 
mansions,  and  to  perpetuate  them  to  their  descend- 
ants. Republican  as  I am  by  birth,  and  brought 
up  as  I have  been  in  republican  principles  and 
habits,  I can  feel  nothing  of  the  servile  reverence 
for  titled  rank,  merely  because  it  is  titled  ; but  I 
trust  that  I am  neither  churl  nor  bigot  in  my 
creed.  I can  both  see  and  feel  how  hereditary 
distinction,  when  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  a generous 
mind,  may  elevate  that  mind  into  true  nobility. 
It  is  one  of  the  effects  of  hereditary  rank,  when 
it  falls  thus  happily,  that  it  multiplies  the  duties, 
and,  as  it  were,  extends  the  existence  of  the  pos- 
sessor. He  does  not  feel  himself  a mere  indi- 
vidual link  in  creation,  responsible  only  for  his 
own  brief  term  of  being.  He  carries  back  his 
existence  in  nroud  recollection,  and  he  extends  it 


FOREST  TREES. 


105 


forward  in  honorable  anticipation.  He  lives  with 
his  ancestry,  and  he  lives  with  his  posterity.  To 
both  does  he  consider  himself  involved  in  deep 
responsibilities.  As  he  has  received  much  from 
those  who  have  gone  before,  so  he  feels  bound  to 
transmit  much  to  those  who  are  to  come  aftei 
him.  His  domestic  undertakings  seem  to  imply 
a longer  existence  than  those  of  ordinary  men  ; 
none  are  so  apt  to  build  and  plant  for  future  cen- 
turies as  those  noble-spirited  men  who  have  re- 
ceived their  heritages  from  foregone  ages. 

I cannot  but  applaud,  therefore,  the  fondness 
and  pride  with  which  I have  noticed  English  gen- 
tlemen, of  generous  temperaments  and  high  aris- 
tocratic feelings,  contemplating  those  magnificent 
trees,  rising  like  towers  and  pyramids  from  the 
midst  of  their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an  affin- 
ity between  all  nature,  animate  and  inanimate  : the 
oak,  in  the  pride  and  lustihood  of  its  growth,  seems 
to  me  to  take  its  range  with  the  lion  and  the  eagle, 
and  to  assimilate,  in  the  grandeur  of  its  attributes, 
to  heroic  and  intellectual  man.  With  its  mighty 
pillar  rising  straight  and  direct  towards  heaven, 
bearing  up  its  leafy  honors  from  the  impurities 
of  earth,  and  supporting  them  aloft  in  free  air 
and  glorious  sunshine,  it  is  an  emblem  of  what  a 
true  nobleman  should  he : a refuge  for  the  weak, 
a shelter  for  the  oppressed,  a defence  for  the  de- 
fenceless ; warding  off  from  them  the  peltings  of 
die  storm,  or  the  scorching  rays  of  arbitrary 
power.  He  who  is  this , is  an  ornament  and  a 
blessing  to  his  native  land.  He  who  is  otherwise, 
abuses  his  eminent  advantages  ; abuses  the  gran 


106 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


deur  and  prosperity  which  he  has  drawn  from  the 
bosom  of  his  country.  Should  tempests  arise, 
and  he  be  laid  prostrate  by  the  storm,  who  would 
mourn  over  his  fall  ? Should  he  be  borne  down 
by  the  oppressive  hand  of  power,  who  would  mur- 
mur at  his  fate  ? — “ Why  cumbereth  he  the 
ground  ? ” 


i 


A LITERARY  ANTIQUARY. 

Printed  bookes  he  contemnes,  as  a novelty  of  this  latter  age;  but  a 
manuscript  he  pores  on  everlastingly  ; especially  if  the  cover  be  all 
moth-eaten,  and  the  dust  make  a parenthesis  betweene  every  syllable. 

Mlco-Cosmographie,  1628. 


HE  Squire  receives  great  sympathy  and 
support,  in  his  antiquated  humors,  from 
the  parson,  of  whom  I made  some  men- 
tion on  my  former  visit  to  the  Hall,  and  who  acts 
as  a kind  of  family  chaplain.  He  has  been  cher- 
ished by  the  Squire  almost  constantly  since  the 
time  that  they  were  fellow-students  at  Oxford ; 
for  it  is  one  of  the  peculiar  advantages  of  these 
great  universities,  that  they  often  link  the  poor 
scholar  to  the  rich  patron  by  early  and  heartfelt 
ties,  which  last  through  life,  without  the  usual 
humiliations  of  dependence  and  patronage.  Un- 
der the  fostering  protection  of  the  Squire,  there- 
fore, the  little  parson  has  pursued  his  studies  in 
peace.  Having  lived  almost  entirely  among 
books,  and  those,  too,  old  books,  he  is  quite  igno- 
rant of  the  world,  and  his  mind  is  as  antiquated  as 
the  garden  at  the  Hall,  where  the  flowers  are  all 
arranged  in  formal  beds,  and  the  yew-trees  clipped 
into  urns  and  peacocks.* 

His  tasle  for  literary  antiquities  was  first  im- 


103 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


bibed  in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford ; where, 
when  a student,  he  passed  many  an  hour  forag- 
ing among  the  old  manuscripts.  He  lias  since,  at 
different  times,  visited  most  of  the  curious  libra- 
ries in  England,  and  has  ransacked  many  of  the 
cathedrals.  With  all  his  quaint  and  curious 
learning,  he  has  nothing  of  arrogance  or  pedan- 
try, but  that  unaffected  earnestness  and  guileless 
simplicity  which  seem  to  belong  to  the  literary 
antiquary. 

He  is  a dark,  mouldy  little  man,  and  rather 
dry  in  his  manner ; yet,  on  his  favorite  theme,  he 
kindles  up,  and  at  times  is  even  eloquent.  No  fox- 
hunter,  recounting  his  last  day’s  sport,  could  be 
more  animated  than  I have  seen  the  worthy  par- 
son, when  relating  his  search  after  a curious  docu- 
ment, which  he  had  traced  from  library  to  library, 
until  he  fairly  unearthed  it  in  the  dusty  chapter- 
house  of  a cathedral.  When,  too,  he  describes 
some  venerable  manuscript,  with  its  rich  illumina- 
tions, its  thick  creamy  vellum,  its  glossy  ink,  and 
the  odor  of  the  cloisters  that  seemed  to  exhale 
from  it,  he  rivals  the  enthusiasm  of  a Parisian 
epicure  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a Perigord 
pie,  or  a Pate  de  Strasbourg . 

His  brain  seems  absolutely  haunted  with  love- 
sick dreams  about  gorgeous  old  works  in  “ silk 
linings,  tripled  gold  bands,  and  tinted  leather, 
locked  up  in  wire  cases,  and  secured  from  the 
vulgar  hands  of  the  mere  reader,”  and,  to  con- 
tinue the  happy  expressions  of  an  ingenious 
writer,  “ dazzling  one’s  eyes  like  eastern  beau- 
ties peering  through  their  jealousies.”  * 

* D’ Israeli.  Curiosities  of  Literature. 


A LIT LR ARY  ANTIQUARY. 


109 


He  has  a great  desire,  however,  to  read  such 
works  in  the  old  libraries  and  chapter-houses  to 
which  they  belong ; for  he  thinks  a black-letter 
volume  reads  best  in  one  of  those  venerable 
chambers  where  the  light  struggles  through  dusty 
lancet  windows  and  painted  glass  ; and  that  it 
loses  half  its  zest  if  taken  away  from  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  quaintly  carved  oaken  bookcase 
and  Gothic  reading-desk.  At  his  suggestion  the 
Squire  has  had  the  library  furnished  in  this  an- 
tique taste,  and  several  of  the  windows  glazed 
with  painted  glass,  that  they  may  throw  a prop- 
erly tempered  light  upon  the  pages  of  their  favor- 
ite old  authors. 

The  parson,  I am  told,  has  been  for  some  time 
meditating  a commentary  on  Strutt,  Brand,  and 
Douce,  in  which  he  means  to  detect  them  in  sun- 
dry dangerous  errors  in  respect  to  popular  games 
and  superstitions  ; a work  to  which  the  Squire 
looks  forward  with  great  interest.  He  is,  also, 
a casual  contributor  to  that  long-established  re- 
pository of  national  customs  and  antiquities,  the 
“ Gentleman’s  Magazine,”  and  is  one  of  those  who 
every  now  and  then  make  an  inquiry  concerning 
some  obsolete  custom  or  rare  legend;  nay,  it  is 
said  that  some  of  his  communications  have  been 
at  least  six  inches  in  length.  He  frequently 
receives  parcels  by  coach  from  different  parts  of 
the  kingdom,  containing  mouldy  volumes  and 
almost  illegible  manuscripts  ; for  it  is  singular 
what  an  active  correspondence  is  kept  up  among 
literary  antiquaries,  and  how  soon  the  fame  of 
any  rare  volume,  or  unique  copy,  just  discovered 


110 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


among  the  rubbish  of  a library,  is  circulated 
among  them.  The  parson  is  more  busy  than 
common  just  now,  being  a little  flurried  by  an 
advertisement  of  a work,  said  to  be  preparing  for 
the  press,  on  the  mythology  of  the  middle  ages. 
The  little  man  has  long  been  gathering  together 
all  the  hobgoblin  tales  he  could  collect,  illustra- 
tive of  the  superstitions  of  former  times  ; and  he 
is  in  a complete  fever,  lest  this  formidable  rival 
should  take  the  field  before  him. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  at  the  Hall,  I called 
at  the  parsonage,  in  company  with  Mr.  Brace- 
bridge  and  the  general.  The  parson  had  not 
been  seen  for  several  days,  which  was  a matter 
of  some  surprise,  as  he  was  an  almost  daily 
visitor  at  the  Hall.  We  found  him  in  his  study  : 
a small  dusky  chamber,  lighted  by  a lattice-win- 
dow that  looked  into  the  church-yard,  and  w$s 
overshadowed  by  a yew-tree.  His  chair  was 
surrounded  by  folios  and  quartos,  piled  upon  the 
floor,  and  his  table  was  covered  with  books  and 
manuscripts.  The  cause  of  his  seclusion  was  a 
work  which  he  had  recently  received,  and  with 
which  he  had  retired  in  rapture  from  the  world, 
and  shut  himself  up  to  enjoy  a literary  honey- 
moon undisturbed.  Never  did  boarding-school 
girl  devour  the  pages  of  a sentimental  novel,  or 
Don  Quixote  a chivalrous  romance,  with  more 
intense  delight  than  did  the  little  man  banquet  on 
the  pages  of  this  delicious  work.  It  was  Dibdin’s 
“ Bibliographical  Tour,”  a work  calculated  to 
have  as  intoxicating  an  effect  on  the  imaginations 
of  literary  antiquaries  as  the  adventures  of  the 


A LITERARY  ANTIQUARY 


111 


heroes  of  the  round  - table  on  all  true  knights, 
or  the  tales  of  the  early  American  voyagers  on 
the  ardent  spirits  of  the  age,  filling  them  with 
dreams  of  Mexican  and  Peruvian  mines,  and  of 
the  golden  realm  of  El  Dorado. 

The  good  parson  had  looked  forward  to  this 
bibliographical  expedition  as  of  far  greater  im- 
portance than  those  to  Africa,  or  the  North  Pole. 
With  what  eagerness  had  he  seized  upon  the  his- 
tory of  the  enterprise  ! with  what  interest  had  he 
followed  the  redoubtable  bibliographer  and  his 
graphical  squire  in  their  adventurous  roamings 
among  Norman  castles,  and  cathedrals,  and  French 
libraries,  and  German  convents  and  universities  ; 
penetrating  into  the  prison-houses  of  vellum  man- 
uscripts, and  exquisitely  illuminated  missals,  and 
revealing  their  beauties  to  the  world  ! 

• When  the  parson  had  finished  a rapturous 
eulogy  on  this  most  curious  and  entertaining  work, 
he  drew  forth  from  a little  drawer  a manuscript, 
lately  received  from  a correspondent,  which  had 
perplexed  him  sadly.  It  was  written  in  Norman 
French,  in  very  ancient  characters,  and  so  faded 
and  mouldered  away  as  to  bq  almost  illegible. 
It  was  apparently  an  old  Norman  drinking-song, 
which  might  have  been  brought  over  by  one  of 
William  the  Conqueror’s  carousing  followers. 
The  writing  was  just  legible  enough  to  keep  a 
keen  antiquity-hunter  on  a doubtful  chase ; here 
and  there  he  would  be  completely  thrown  out, 
and  then  there  would  be  a few  words  so  plainly 
written  as  to  put  him  on  the  scent  again.  In 
this  way  he  had  been  led  on  for  a whole  day 
until  he  had  found  himself  completely  at  fault. 


112 


BRACEERJDGE  HALL. 


The  Squire  endeavored  to  assist  him,  but  was 
equally  baffled.  The  old  general  listened  for 
some  time  to  the  discussion,  and  then  asked  the 
parson,  if  he  had  read  Captain  Morris’s,  or 
George  Stevens’s,  or  Anacreon  Moore’s  bacchana- 
lian songs ; on  the  other  replying  in  the  negative, 
“ Oh,  then,”  said  the  general,  with  a sagacious 
nod,  “ if  you  want  a drinking-song,  I can  furnish 
you  with  the  latest  collection,  — I did  not  know 
you  had  a turn  for  those  kind  of  things ; and  I 
can  lend  you  the  Encyclopedia  of  Wit  into  the 
bargain.  I never  travel  without  them  ; they  ’re 
excellent  reading  at  an  inn.” 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  the  odd  look 
of  surprise  and  perplexity  of  the  parson,  at  this 
proposal ; or  the  difficulty  the  Squire  had  in  mak- 
ing the  general  comprehend,  that,  though  a jovial 
song  of  the  present  day  was  but  a foolish  sound 
in  the  ears  of  wisdom,  and  beneath  the  notice  of 
a learned  man,  yet  a trowl,  written  by  a tosspot 
several  hundred  year^  since,  was  a matter  worthy 
of  the  gravest  research,  and  enough  to  set  wholo 
colleges  by  the  ears. 

I have  since  pondered  much  on  this  matter, 
and  have  figured  to  myself  what  may  be  the  fate 
of  our  current  literature,  when  retrieved,  piece- 
meal, by  future  antiquaries,  from  among  the  rub- 
bish of  ages.  What  a Magnus  Apollo,  for  in- 
stance, will  Moore  become,  among  sober  divines 
and  dusty  schoolmen  ! Even  his  festive  and 
amatory  songs,  which  are  now  the  mere  quickeners 
of  our  social  moments,  or  the  delights  of  our 
drawing-rooms,  will  then  become  matters  of  la- 


A LITERARY  ANTIQUARY. 


113 


borious  research  and  painful  collation.  How 
many  a grave  professor  will  then  waste  his  mid- 
night oil,  or  worry  his  brain  through  a long  morn- 
ing, endeavoring  to  restore  the  pure  text,  or  illus- 
trate the  biographical  hints  of  u Come,  tell  me, 
says  Rosa,  as  kissing  and  kissed  ; ” and  how  many 
an  arid  old  bookworm,  like  the  worthy  little  par- 
son, will  give  up  in  despair,  after  vainly  striving 
to  fill  up  some  fatal  hiatus  in  “ Fanny  of  Tim- 
raol ! ” 

Nor  is  it  merely  such  exquisite  authors  as 
Moore  that  are  doomed  to  consume  the  oil  of 
future  antiquaries.  Many  a poor  scribbler,  who 
is  now,  apparently,  sent  to  oblivion  by  pastry- 
cooks and  cheesemongers,  will  then  rise  again  in 
fragments,  and  flourish  in  learned  immortality. 

* After  all,  thought  I,  Time  is  not  such  an  invari-  ' 
able  destroyer  as  he  is  represented.  If  he  pulls 
down,  he  likewise  builds  up ; if  he  impoverishes 
one,  he  enriches  another ; his  very  dilapidation 
furnishes  matter  for  new  works  of  controversy, 
and  his  rust  is  more  precious  than  the  most  costly 
gilding.  Under  his  plastic  band  trifles  rise  into 
importance ; the  nonsense  of  one  age  becomes 
the  wisdom  of  another  ; the  levity  of  the  wit 
gravitates  into  the  learning  of  the  pedant,  and  an 
ancient  farthing  moulders  into  infinitely  more 
value  than  a modern  guinea. 

8 


THE  FARM-HOUSE. 

Love  and  hay 

Are  thick  sown,  but  come  up  full  of  thistles. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

WAS  so  much  pleased  with  the  anecdotes 
jgN  glia  which  were  told  me  of  Ready-Money 
Jack  Tibbets,  that  I got  Master  Simon, 
a day  or  two  since,  to  take  me  to  his  house.  It 
was  an  old-fashioned  farm-house,  built  of  brick, 
with  curiously  twisted  chimneys.  It  stood  at  a lit-  • 
tie  distance  from  the  road,  with  a southern  expos- 
ure, looking  upon  a soft,  green  slope  of  meadow. 
There  was  a small  garden  in  front,  with  a row 
of  beehives  humming  among  beds  of  sweet  herbs 
and  flowers.  Well  - scoured  milking  - tubs,  with 
bright  copper  hoops,  hung  on  the  garden  paling. 
Fruit-trees  were  trained  up  against  the  cottage, 
and  pots  of  flowers  stood  in  the  windows.  A fat, 
superannuatBi  mastiff*  lay  in  the  sunshine  at  the 
door,  with  a sleek  cat  sleeping  peacefully  across 
him. 

Mr.  Tibbets  was  from  home  at  the  time  of  our 
calling,  but  we  were  received  with  hearty  and 
homely  welcome  by  his  wife  : a notable,  motherly 
woman,  and  a complete  pattern  for  wives  ; since, 
according  to  Master  Simon’s  account,  she  never 


THE  FARM-IIOUSE. 


115 


contradicts  honest  Jack,  and  yet  manages  to  have 
her  own  way,  and  to  control  him  in  everything. 

She  received  us  in  the  main  room  of  the  house, 
a kind  of  parlor  and  hall,  with  great  brown  beams 
of  timber  across  it,  which  Mr.  Tibbets  is  apt  to 
point  out  with  some  exultation,  observing,  that 
they  don’t  put  such  timber  in  houses  nowadays. 
The  furniture  was  old-fashioned,  strong,  and  high- 
ly polished;  the  walls  were  hung  with  colored 
prints  of  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  who  was 
represented  in  a red  coat  and  leather  breeches. 
Over  the  fireplace  was  a blunderbuss,  and  a hard- 
favored  likeness  of  Ready-Money  Jack,  taken, 
when  he  was  a young  man,  by  the  same  artist 
that  painted  the  tavern-sign ; his  mother  having 
taken  a notion  that  the  Tibbets  had  as  much 
right  to  have  a gallery  of  family  portraits  as  the 
folks  at  the  Hall. 

The  good  dame  pressed  us  very  much  to 
take  some  refreshment,  and  tempted  us  with  a 
variety  of  household  dainties,  so  that  we  were 
glad  to  compound  by  tasting  some  of  her  home- 
made wines.  While  we  were  there,  the  son  and 
heir-apparent  came  home  : a good-looking  young 
fellow,  and  something  of  a rustic  beau.  He  took 
us  over  the  premises,  and  showed  us  the  whole 
establishment.  An  air  of  homely  but  substantial 
plenty  prevailed  throughout ; everything  was  of 
‘lie  best  materials,  and  in  the  best  condition. 
Nothing  was  out  of  place,  or  ill  made  ; and  you 
saw  everywhere  the  signs  of  a man  who  took 
rare  to  have  the  worth  of  his  money,  and  paid  as 
he  went. 


116 


BRACEBllIDGE  HALL. 


The  farm-yard  was  well  stocked  ; under  a shed 
was  a taxed  cart,  in  trim  order,  in  which  Ready- 
Money  Jack  took  his  wife  about  the  country. 
His  well-fed  horse  neighed  from  the  stable,  and 
when  led  out  into  the  yard,  to  use  the  words  of 
young  Jack,  “ he  shone  like  a bottle  ; ” for  he 
said  the  old  man  made  it  a rule  that  everything 
about  him  should  fare  as  well  as  he  did  himself. 

I was  pleased  to  see  the  pride  which  the  young 
fellow  seemed  to  have  of  his  father.  He  gave  us 
several  particulars  concerning  his  habits,  which 
were  pretty  much  to  the  effect  of  those  I have 
already  mentioned.  He  had  never  suffered  an 
account  to  stand  in  his  life,  always  providing  the 
money  before  he  purchased  anything ; and,  if  pos- 
sible, paying  in  gold  and  silver.  He  had  a great 
dislike  to  paper  money,  and  seldom  went  without 
a considerable  sum  in  gold  about  him.  On  my 
observing  that  it  was  a wonder  he  had  never  been 
waylaid  and  robbed,  the  young  fellow  smiled  at 
the  idea  of  any  one  venturing  upon  such  an  ex- 
ploit, for  I believe  he  thinks  the  old  man  would 
be  a match  for  Robin  Hood  and  all  his  gang.  ■ 

I have  noticed  that  Master  Simon  seldom  goes 
into  any  house  without  having  a world  of  private 
talk  with  some  one  or  other  of  the  family,  being 
a kind  of  universal  counsellor  and  confidant. 
We  had  not  been  long  at  the  farm,  before  the  old 
dame  got  him  into  a corner  of  her  parlor,  where 
they  had  a long  whispering  conference  together  ; 
in  which  I saw  by  his  shrugs  that  there  were 
some  dubious  matters  discussed,  and  by  his  nods 
that  he  agreed  with  everything  she  said. 


77/A’  FARM-HOUSE.  . 


117 


After  we  had  come  out,  the  young  man  accom 
panied  us  a little  distance,  and  then,  drawing 
Master  Simon  aside  into  a green  lane,  they  walked 
and  talked  together  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  Mas- 
ter Simon,  who  has  the  usual  propensity  of  con- 
fidants to  blab  everything  to  the  next  friend  they 
meet  with,  let  me  know  that  there  was  a love- 
affair  in  the  question ; the  young  fellow  having 
been  smitten  with  the  charms  of  Phoebe  Wilkins, 
the  pretty  niece  of  the  housekeeper  at  the  Hall. 
Like  most  other  love-concerns,  it  had  brought  its 
troubles  and  perplexities.  Dame  Tibbets  had 
long  been  on  intimate,  gossiping  terms  with  the 
housekeeper,  who  often  visited  the  farm-house ; 
but  when  the  neighbors  spoke  to  her  of  the  like- 
lihood of  a match  between  her  son  and  Phoebe 
Wilkins,  “ Marry  come  up  ! ” she  scouted  the  very 
idea.  The  girl  had  acted  as  Lady’s  maid,  and  it 
was  beneath  the  blood  of  the  Tibbets,  who  had 
lived  on  their  own  lands  time  out  of  mind,  and 
owed  reverence  and  thanks  to  nobody,  to  have 
the  heir-apparent  marry  a servant ! 

These  vaporings  had  faithfully  been  carried  to 
the  housekeeper’s  ears  by  one  of  their  mutual 
go-between  friends.  The  old  housekeeper’s  blood, 
if  not  as  ancient,  was  as  quick  as  that  of  Dame 
Tibbets.  She  had  been  accustomed  to  carry  a 
high  head  at  the  Hall  and  among  the  villagers ; 
and  her  faded  brocade  rustled  with  indignation  at 
the  slight  cast  upon  her  alliance  by  the  wife  of 
a petty  farmer.  She  maintained  that  her  niece 
aad  been  a companion  rather  than  a waiting-maid 
to  the  young  ladies.  “ Thank  heavens,  she  was 


118 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  IIALL. 


not  obliged  to  work  for  her  living,  and  was  as 
idle  as  any  young  lady  in  the  land ; and  when 
somebody  died,  would  receive  something  that 
would  be  worth  the  notice  of  some  folks,  with  all 
their  ready  money/’ 

A bitter  feud  had  thus  taken  place  between 
the  two  worthy  dames,  and  the  young  people 
were  forbidden  to  think  of  one  another.  As  to 
young  Jack,  he  was  too  much  in  love  to  reason 
upon  the  matter ; and  being  a little  heady,  and 
not  standing  in  much  awe  of  his  mother,  was 
ready  to  sacrifice  the  whole  dignity  of  the  Tibbets 
to  his  passion.  He  had  lately,  however,  had  a 
violent  quarrel  with  his  mistress,  in  consequence 
of  some  coquetry  on  her  part,  and  at  present  stood 
aloof.  The  politic  mother  was  exerting  all  her 
ingenuity  to  widen  this  accidental  breach  ; but, 
as  is  most  commonly  the  case,  the  more  she  med- 
dled with  this  perverse  inclination  of  her  son,  the 
stronger  it  grew.  In  the  mean  time  Old  Ready- 
Money  was  kept  completely  in  the  dark ; both 
parties  were  in  awe  and  uncertainty  as  to  what 
might  be  his  way  of  taking  the  matter,  and  dread- 
ed to  awaken  the  sleeping  lion.  Between  father 
and  son,  therefore,  the  worthy  Mrs.  Tibbets  was 
full  of  business,  and  at  her  wit’s  end.  It  is  true 
there  was  no  great  danger  of  honest  Ready-Mon- 
ey’s  finding  the  thing  out,  if  left  to  himself,  for  he 
was  of  a most  unsuspicious  temper,  and  by  no 
means  quick  of  apprehension  ; but  there  was  daily 
risk  of  his  attention  being  aroused  by  those  cob- 
webs which  his  indefatigable  wife  was  continually 
spinning  about  his  nose. 


THE  FARM-HOUSE . 


119 


Such  is  the  distracted  state  of  politics  in  the 
domestic  empire  of  Ready-Money  Jack  ; which 
only  shows  the  intrigues  and  internal  dangers  to 
which  the  best  regulated  governments  are  liable. 
In  this  perplexed  situation  of  their  affairs,  both 
mother  and  son  have  applied  to  Master  Simon 
for  counsel ; and,  with  all  his  experience  in  med- 
dling with  other  people’s  concerns,  he  finds  it  an 
exceedingly  difficult  part  to  play,  to  agree  with 
both  parties,  seeing  that  their  opinions  and  wishes 
are  so  diametrically  opposite. 


HORSEMANSHIP. 

A coach  was  a strange  monster  in  those  days,  and  the  sight  of  on€ 
put  both  horse  and  man  into  amazement.  Some  said  it  was  a great 
srabshell  brought  out  of  China,  and  some  imagined  it  to  be  one  of 
the  pagan  temples,  in  which  the  canibals  adored  the  divell. 

Taylor,  the  water  poet. 

HAVE  made  casual  mention,  more  than 
once,  of  one  of  the  Squire’s  antiquated 
retainers,  old  Christy  the  huntsman.  I 
find  that  his  crabbed  humor  is  a source  of  much 
entertainment  among  the  young  men  of  the  fam- 
ily ; the  Oxonian,  particularly,  takes  a mischiev- 
ous pleasure  now  and  then  in  slyly  rubbing  the 
old  man  against  the  grain,  and  then  smoothing 
him  down  again  ; for  the  old  fellow  is  as  ready 
to  bristle  up  his  back  as  a porcupine.  He  rides 
a venerable  hunter  called  Pepper,  which  is  a 
counterpart  of  himself,  a heady,  cross-grained 
animal,  that  frets  the  flesh  off  its  bones ; bites, 
kicks,  and  plays  all  manner  of  villanous  tricks. 
He  is  as  tough,  and  nearly  as  old  as  his  rider, 
who  has  ridden  him  time  out  of  mind,  and  is,  in- 
deed, the  only  one  that  can  do  anything  with 
him.  Sometimes,  however,  they  have  a complete 
quarrel,  and  a dispute  for  mastery,  and  then,  I 
am  told,  it  is  as  good  as  a farce  to  see  the  heat 


HORSEMANSHIP. 


121 


they  both  get  into,  and  tlie  wrongheaded  contest 
that  ensues ; for  they  are  quite  knowing  in  each 
other’s  ways,  and  in  the  art  of  teasing  and  fret- 
ting each  other.  Notwithstanding  these  doughty 
brawls,  however,  there  is  nothing  that  nettles  old 
Christy  sooner  than  to  question  the  merits  of  his 
horse  ; which  he  upholds  as  tenaciously  as  a faith- 
ful husband  will  vindicate  the  virtues  of  the  ter- 
magant spouse  that  gives  him  a curtain-lecture 
every  night  of  his  life. 

The  young  men  call  old  Christy  their  “ pro- 
fessor of  equitation,”  and  in  accounting  for  the 
appellation,  they  let  me  into  some  particulars  of 
the  Squire’s  mode  of  bringing  up  his  children. 
There  is  an  odd  mixture  of  eccentricity  and  good 
sense  in  all  the  opinions  of  my  worthy  host.  His 
mind  is  like  modern  Gothic,  where  plain  brick- 
work is  set  off  with  pointed  arches  and  quaint 
tracery.  Though  the  main  groundwork  of  his 
opinions  is  correct,  yet  he  has  a thousand  little 
notions,  picked  up  from  old  books,  which  stand 
out  whimsically  on  the  surface  of  his  mind. 

Thus,  in  educating  his  boys,  he  chose  Peachem, 
Markam,  and  such  like  old  English  writers,  for 
his  manuals.  At  an  early  age  he  took  the  lads 
out  of  their  mother’s  hands,  who  was  disposed, 
as  mothers  are  apt  to  be,  to  make  fine,  orderly 
children  of  them,  that  should  keep  out  of  sun  and 
rain,  and  never  soil  their  hands,  nor  tear  their 
clothes. 

In  place  of  this,  the  Squire  turned  them  loose 
to  run  free  and  wild  about  the  park,  without 
heeding  wind  or  weather.  He  was  also  particu- 


122 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


larly  attentive  in  making  them  bold  and  expert 
horsemen  ; and  these  were  the  days  when  old 
Christy,  the  huntsman,  enjoyed  great  importance 
as  the  lads  were  put  under  his  care  to  practise 
them  at  the  leaping-bars,  and  to  keep  an  eye 
upon  them  in  the  chase. 

The  Squire  always  objected  to  their  riding  in 
carriages  of  any  kind,  and  is  still  a little  tena- 
cious on  this  point.  He  often  rails  against  the 
universal  use  of  carriages,  and  quotes  the  words 
of  honest  Nashe  to  that  effect.  “ It  was  thought,” 
says  Nashe,  in  his  Quaternio,  “a  kind  of  solecism, 
and  to  savor  of  effeminacy,  for  a young  gentle- 
man in  the  flourishing  time  of  his  age  to  creep 
into  a coach,  and  to  shroud  himself  from  wind  and 
weather : our  great  delight  was  to  outbrave  the 
blustering  Boreas  upon  a great  horse ; to  arm  and 
prepare  ourselves  to  go  with  Mars  and  Bellona 
into  the  field  was  our  sport  and  pastime  ; coaches 
and  caroches  we  left  unto  them  for  whom  they 
were  first  invented,  for  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
decrepit  age  and  impotent  people.” 

The  Squire  insists  that  the  English  gentlemen 
have  lost  much  of  their  hardiness  and  manhood 
since  the  introduction  of  carriages.  “ Compare,” 
he  will  say,  “ the  fine  gentleman  of  former  times, 
ever  on  horseback,  booted  and  spurred,  and  travel- 
stained,  but  open,  frank,  manly,  and  chivalrous, 
with  the  fine  gentleman  of  the  present  day,  full 
of  affectation  and  effeminacy,  rolling  along  a turn- 
pike in  his  voluptuous  vehicle.  The  young  men 
of  those  days  were  rendered  brave,  and  lofty,  and 
generous  in  their  notions,  by  almost  living  in  their 


HORSEMANSHIP. 


123 


saddles,  and  having  their  foaming  steeds  ‘ like 
proud  seas  under  them/  There  is  something,” 
he  adds,  “ in  bestriding  a fine  horse,  that  makes  a 
man  feel  more  than  mortal.  He  seems  to  have 
doubled  his  nature,  and  to  have  added  to  his  own 
courage  and  sagacity  the  power,  the  speed,  and 
stateliness  of  the  superb  animal  on  which  he  i3 
mounted.” 

“ It  is  a great  delight,”  says  old  Nashe,  “ to  see 
a young  gentleman  with  his  skill  and  cunning,  by 
his  voice,  rod,  and  spur,  better  to  manage  and  to 
command  the  great  Bucephalus,  than  the  strong- 
est Milo,  with  all  his  strength ; one  while  to  see 
him  make  him  tread,  trot,  and  gallop  the  ring ; 
and  one  after  to  see  him  make  him  gather  up 
roundly  ; to  bear  his  head  steadily ; to  run  a full 
career  swiftly  ; to  stop  a sudden  lightly  : anon 
after  to  see  him  make  him  advance,  to  yorke,  to 
go  back,  and  side  long,  to  turn  on  either  hand  ; 
to  gallop  the  gallop  galliard  ; to  do  the  capriole, 
the  chambetta,  and  dance  the  curvetty.” 

In  conformity  to  these  ideas,  the  Squire  had 
them  all  on  horseback  at  an  early  age,  and  made 
them  ride,  slapdash,  about  the  country,  without 
flinching  at  hedge,  or  ditch,  or  stone  wall,  to  the 
imminent  danger  of  their  necks. 

Even  the  fair  Julia  was  partially  included  in 
this  system ; and,  under  the  instructions  of  old 
Christy,  has  become  one  of  the  best  horsewomen 
in  the  country.  The  Squire  says  it  is  better  than 
all  the  cosmetics  and  sweeteners  of  the  breath  that 
ever  were  invented.  He  extols  the  horsemanship 
*f  the  ladies  in  former  times,  when  Queen  Eliza- 


124 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


beth  would  scarcely  suffer  the  rain  to  stop  her 
accustomed  ride.  “ And  then  think,”  he  will  say, 
u what  nobler  and  sweeter  beings  it  made  them. 
What  a difference  must  there  be,  both  in  mind 
and  body,  between  a joyous  high-spirited  dame  of 
those  days,  glowing  with  health  and  exercise, 
freshened  by  every  breeze,  seated  loftily  and 
gracefully  on  her  saddle,  with  plume  on  head,  and 
hawk  on  hand,  and  her  descendant  of  the  present 
day,  the  pale  victim  of  routs  and  ball-rooms,  sunk 
languidly  in  one  corner  of  an  enervating  car- 
riage.” 

The  Squire’s  equestrian  system  has  been  at- 
tended with  great  success,  for  his  sons,  having 
passed  through  the  whole  course  of  instruction 
without  breaking  neck  or  limb,  are  now  healthful, 
spirited,  and  active,  and  have  the  true  English- 
man’s love  for  a horse.  If  their  manliness  and 
frankness  are  praised  in  their  father’s  hearing,  he 
quotes  the  old  Persian  maxim,  and  says,  they 
have  been  taught  “ to  ride,  to  shoot,  and  to  speak 
the  truth.” 

It  is  true  the  Oxonian  has  now  and  then  prac- 
tised the  old  gentleman’s  doctrines  a little  in  the 
extreme.  He  is  a gay  youngster,  rather  fonder 
of  his  horse  than  his  book,  with  a little  dash  of 
the  dandy ; though  the  ladies  all  declare  that  he 
is  “ the  flower  of  the  flock.”  The  first  year  that 
he  was  sent  to  Oxford  he  had  a tutor  appointed 
to  overlook  him,  — a dry  chip  of  the  university. 
When  he  returned  home  in  the  vacation,  the 
Squire  made  many  inquiries  about  how  he  liked 
his  college,  his  studies,  and  his  tutor. 


HORSEMANSHIP. 


125 


a Oh,  as  to  my  tutor,  sir,  I ’ve  parted  with  him 
some  time  since.” 

“ You  have  ; and  pray,  why  so  ? ” 

“ Oh,  sir,  hunting  was  all  the  go  at  our  college, 
and  I was  a little  short  of  funds ; so  I discharged 
my  tutor,  and  took  a horse,  you  know.” 

“ Ah,  I was  not  aware  of  that,  Tom,”  said  the 
Squire,  mildly. 

When  Tom  returned  to  college,  his  allowance 
was  doubled,  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  keep 
both  horse  and  tutor. 


LOVE  SYMPTOMS. 

I will  now  begin  to  sigh,  read  poets,  look  pale,  go  neatly,  and  b« 
most  apparently  in  love.  — Marsxoh. 

H SHOULD  not  be  surprised  if  we  should 
have  another  pair  of  turtles  at  the  Hall ; 
for  Master  Simon  has  informed  me,  in 
great  confidence,  that  he  suspects  the  general  of 
some  design  upon  the  susceptible  heart  of  Lady 
Lilly  craft.  I have,  indeed,  noticed  a growing  at- 
tention and  courtesy  in  the  veteran  towards  her 
ladyship  ; he  softens  very  much  in  her  company, 
sits  by  her  at  table,  and  entertains  her  with  long 
stories  about  Seringapatam,  and  pleasant  anec- 
dotes of  the  Mulligatawney  club.  I have  even 
seen  him  present  her  with  a full-blown  rose  from 
the  hot-house,  in  a style  of  the  most  captivating 
gallantry,  and  it  was  accepted  vvith  great  suavity 
and  graciousness ; for  her  ladyship  delights  in  re- 
ceiving the  homage  and  attention  of  the  sex. 

Indeed,  the  general  was  one  of  the  earliest  ad- 
mirers that  dangled  in  her  train  during  her  short 
reign  of  beauty ; and  they  flirted  together  for 
half  a season  in  London,  some  thirty  or  forty 
years  since.  She  reminded  him  lately,  in  the 
course  of  a conversation  about  former  days,  of 


LOVE  SYMPTOMS. 


127 


the  time  when  he  used  to  ride  a white  horse,  and 
to  canter  so  gallantly  by  the  side  of  her  carriage 
in  Hyde  Park ; whereupon  I have  remarked  that 
the  veteran  has  regularly  escorted  her  since,  when 
she  rides  out  on  horseback  ; and,  I suspect,  he 
almost  persuades  himself  that  he  makes  as  capti- 
vating an  appearance  as  in  his  youthful  days. 

It  would  be  an  interesting  and  memorable 
circumstance  in  the  chronicles  of  Cupid,  if  this 
spark  of  the  tender  passion,  after  lying  dormant 
for  such  a length  of  time,  should  again  be  fanned 
*into  a flame,  from  amidst  the  ashes  of  two  burnt- 
out  hearts.  It  would  be  an  instance  of  perdura- 
ble fidelity,  worthy  of  being  placed  beside  those 
recorded  in  one  of  the  Squire’s  favorite  tomes, 
commemorating  the  constancy  of  the  olden  times ; 
in  which  times,  we  are  told,  Men  and  wymmen 
coulue  love  togyders  seven  yeres,  and  no  licours 
lustes  were  betwene  them,  and  thenne  was  love, 
trouthe,  and  feythfulnes  ; and  lo  in  lyke  wyse 
was  used  love  in  Kyng  Arthurs  dayes.”  # 

Still,  however,  this  may  be  nothing  but  a 
little  venerable  flirtation,  the  general  being  a vet- 
eran dangler,  and  the  good  lady  habituated  to 
these  kind  of  attentions.  Master  Simon,  on  the 
other  hand,  thinks  the.  general  is  looking  about 
him  with  the  wary  eye  of  an  old  campaigner  ; 
and  now  that  he  is  on  the  wane,  is  desirous  of 
getting  into  warm  winter-quarters.  Much  allow- 
ance, however,  must  be  made  for  Master  Simon’s 
uneasiness  on  the  subject,  for  he  looks  on  Lady 
Lilly  craft’s  house  as  one  of  his  strongholds,  where 

* Morte  cl ’Arthur. 


128 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 


he  is  lord  of  the  ascendant ; and,  with  all  his  ad- 
miration of  the  general,  I much  doubt  whether 
he  would  like  to  see  him  lord  of  the  lady  and  the 
establishment. 

There  are  certain  other  symptoms,  notwith- 
standing, that  give  an  air  of  probability  to  Mas- 
ter Simon’s  intimations.  Thus,  for  instance,  I 
have  observed  that  the  general  has  been  very  as- 
siduous in  his  attentions  to  her  ladyship’s  dogs, 
and  has  several  times  exposed  his  fingers  to  im- 
minent jeopardy,  in  attempting  to  pat  Beauty  on 
the  head.  It  is  to  be  hoped  his  advances  to  the 
mistress  will  be  more  favorably  received,  as  all 
his  overtures  towards  a caress  are  greeted  by  the 
pestilent  little  cur  with  a wary  kindling  of  the  eye, 
and  a most  venomous  growl. 

He  has,  moreover,  been  very  complaisant  to- 
wards my  lady’s  gentlewoman,  the  immaculate  Mrs. 
Hannah,  whom  he  used  to  speak  of  in  a way  that 
I do  not  choose  to  mention.  Whether  she  has  the 
same  suspicions  with  Master  Simon  or  not,  I can- 
not say  ; but  she  receives  his  civilities  with  no 
better  grace  than  the  implacable  Beauty ; un- 
screwing her  mouth  into  a most  acid  smile,  and 
looking  as  though  she  could  bite  a piece  out  of 
him.  In  short,  the  poor  general  seems  to  have  as 
formidable  foes  to  contend  with  as  a hero  of  an- 
cient fairy  tale ; who  had  to  fight  his  way  to  his 
enchanted  princess  through  ferocious  monsters  of 
every  kind,  and  to  encounter  the  brimstone  ter- 
rors of  some  fiery  dragon. 

There  is  still  another  circumstance  which  in- 
clines me  to  give  very  considerable  credit  to  Mas- 


LbVE  SYMPTOMS. 


129 


ter  Simon’s  suspicions.  Lady  Lillyeraft  is  very 
fond  of  quoting  poetry,  and  the  conversation 
often  turns  upon  it,  on  which  occasions  the  gem 
eral  is  thrown  completely  out.  It  happened  the 
other  day  that  Spenser’s  “ Fairy  Queen”  was  the 
theme  for  the  great  part  of  the  morning,  and  the 
poor  gentleman  sat  perfectly  silent.  I found  hi  in 
not  long  after  in  the  library,  with  spectacles  on 
nose,  a book  in  his  -hand,  and  fast  asleep.  On  my 
approach  he  awoke,  slipped  the  spectacles  into  his 
pocket,  and  began  to  read  very  attentively.  Af- 
ter a little  while  he  put  a paper  in  the  place,  and 
laid  the  volume  aside,  which  I perceived  was  the 
“ Fairy  Queen.”  I have  had  the  curiosity  to  watch 
how  he  got  on  in  his  poetical  studies  ; but,  though 
I have  repeatedly  seen  him  with  the  book  in  his 
hand,  yet  I find  the  paper  has  not  advanced  above 
three  or  four  pages  ; the  general  being  extremely 
apt  to  fall  asleep  when  he  reads. 

• 9 


FALCONRY. 

Ne  is  there  hawk  which  man  tie th  on  her  perch, 

Whether  high  tow’ring  or  accousting  low, 

But  I the  measure  of  her  flight  doe  search, 

And  all  her  prey  and  all  her  diet  know. 

Spenser. 

HERE  are  several  grand  sources  of  lam 
entation  furnished  to  the  worthy  Squire 
by  the  improvement  of  society  and  the 
grievous  advancement  of  knowledge ; among 
which  none,  I believe,  causes  him  more  frequent 
regret  than  the  unfortunate  invention  of  gun- 
powder. To  this  he  continually  traces  the  decay 
of  some  favorite  custom,  and,  indeed,  the  general 
downfall  of  all  chivalrous  and  romantic  usages. 
“ English  soldiers,”  he  says,  “ have  never  been 
the  men  they  were  in  the  days  of  the  cross-bow 
and  the  long-bow  ; when  they  depended  upon  the 
strength  of  the  arm,  and  the  English  archer  could 
draw  a cloth -yard  shaft  to  the  head.  These 
were  the  times  when,  at  the  battles  of  Cressy, 
Poictiers,  and  Agincourt,  the  French  chivalry  was 
completely  destroyed  by  the  bowmen  of  England. 
The  yeomanry,  too,  have  never  been  what  they 
were,  when,  in  times  of  peace,  they  were  con- 
stantly exercised  with  the  bow,  and  archery  w«\s 
a favorite  holiday  pastime.” 


FALCONRY. 


131 


Among  the  other  evils  which  have  followed  in 
the  train  of  this  fatal  invention  of  gunpowder 
the  Squire  classes  the  total  decline  of  the  noble 
art  of  falconry.  44  Shooting,”  he  says,  44  is  a skulk- 
ing, treacherous,  solitary  sport  in  comparison  ; but 
hawking  was  a gallant,  open,  sunshiny  recreation  ; 
it  was  the  generous  sport  of  hunting  carried  into 
the  skies.” 

44  It  was,  moreover,”  he  says,  44  according  to 
Braithwaite,  the  stately  amusement  of  4 high  and 
mounting  spirits  ’ ; for,  as  the  old  Welsh  proverb 
affirms,  in  those  times  4 you  might  know  a gentle- 
man by  his  hawk,  horse,  and  greyhound.’  In- 
deed, a cavalier  was  seldom  seen  abroad  without 
his  hawk  on  his  fist ; and  even  a lady  of  rank  did 
not  think  herself  completely  equipped,  in  riding 
forth,  unless  she  had  her  tassel-gentel  held  by 
jesses  on  her  delicate  hand.  It  was  thought  in 
those  excellent  days,  according  to  an  old  writer, 
4 quite  sufficient  for  noblemen  to  winde  their 
horn,  and  to  carry  their  hawke  fair;  and  leave 
study  and  learning  to  the  children  of  mean  peo- 
ple.’ ” 

Knowing  the  good  Squire’s  hobby,  therefore,  I 
have  not  been  surprised  in  finding  that,  among 
the  various  recreations  of  former  times,  which  he 
has  endeavored  to  revive  in  the  little  world  in 
which  he  rules,  he  has  bestowed  great  attention  on 
the  noble  art  of  falconry.  In  this  he,  of  course, 
has  been  seconded  by  his  indefatigable  coadjutor, 
Master  Simon ; and  even  the  parson  has  thrown 
considerable  light  on  their  labors,  by  various  hints 
the  subject,  which  he  has  met  with  in  old 


132 


BRA CEBR1DGE  UALL. 


English  works.  As  to  the  precious  work  of  that 
famous  dame,  Juliana  Barnes  ; the  “ Gentleman’s 
Academic,”  by  Markham ; and  the  other  well- 
known  treatises  that  were  the  manuals  of  ancient 
sportsmen,  they  have  them  at  their  fingers’  ends ; 
but  they  have  more  especially  studied  some  old 
tapestry  in  the  house,  whereon  is  represented  a 
party  of  cavaliers  and  stately  dames,  with  doub- 
lets, caps,  and  flaunting  feathers,  mounted  on  horse, 
with  attendants  on  foot,  all  in  animated  pursuit 
of  the  game. 

The  Squire  has  discountenanced  the  killing  of 
any  hawks  in  his  neighborhood,  but  gives  a lib- 
eral bounty  for  all  that  are  brought  him  alive  ; so 
that  the  Hall  is  well  stocked  with  all  kinds  of 
birds  of  prey.  On  these  he  and  Master  Simon 
have  exhausted  their  patience  and  ingenuity,  en- 
deavoring to  “ reclaim  ” them,  as  it  is  termed,  and 
to  train  them  up  for  the  sport  ; but  they  have 
met  with  continual  checks  and  disappointments. 
Their  feathered  school  has  turned  out  the  most 
untractable  and  graceless  scholars  ; nor  is  it  the 
least  of  their  labor  to  drill  the  retainers  who  were 
to  act  as  ushers  under  them,  and  to  take  immedi- 
ate charge  of  these  refractory  birds.  Old  Christy 
and  the  gamekeeper  both,  for  a time,  set  their 
faces  against  the  whole  plan  of  education : Christy 
having  been  nettled  at  hearing  what  he  terms  a 
wild-goose  chase  put  on  a par  with  a fox-hunt ; 
and  the  gamekeeper  having  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  look  upon  hawks  as  arrant  poacher? 
which  it  was  his  duty  to  shoot  down,  and  nail,  iu 
terrorem,  against  the  out-houses. 


FALCONRY. 


133 


Christy  has  at  length  taken  the  matter  in  hand, 
but  has  done  still  more  mischief  by  his  intermed- 
dling. He  is  as  positive  and  wrong-headed  about 
this,  as  he  is  about  hunting.  Master  Simon  has 
continual  disputes  with  him  as  to  feeding  and 
training  the  hawks.  He  reads  to  him  long  pas- 
sages from  the  old  authors  I have  mentioned; 
but  Christy,  who  cannot  read,  has  a sovereign 
contempt  for  all  book-knowledge,  and  persists  in 
treating  the  hawks  according  to  his  own  notions, 
which  are  drawn  from  his  experience,  in  younger 
days,  in  the  rearing  of  game-cocks. 

The  consequence  is,  that,  between  these  jarring 
systems,  the  poor  birds  have  had  a most  trying 
and  unhappy  time  of  it.  Many  have  fallen  vic- 
tims to  Christy’s  feeding  and  Master  Simon’s  phys- 
icking ; for  the  latter  has  gone  to  work  secundem 
artem , and  has  given  them  all  the  vomitings  and 
scourings  laid  down  in  the  books ; never  were 
poor  hawks  so  fed  and  physicked  before.  Others 
have  been  lost  by  being  but  half  “ reclaimed  ” or 
tamed ; for,  on  being  taken  into  the  field,  they 
have  “ raked  ” after  the  game  quite  out  of  hear- 
ing of  the  call,  and  never  returned  to  school. 

All  these  disappointments  had  been  petty,  yet 
sore  grievances  to  the  Squire,  and  had  made  him 
to  despond  about  success.  He  has  lately,  how- 
ever, been  made  happy  by  the  receipt  of  a fine 
Welsh  falcon,  which  Master  Simon  terms  a stately 
highflyer.  It  is  a present  from  the  Squire’s 
friend,  Sir  Watkyn  Williams  Wynne ; and  is,  no 
doubt,  a descendant  of  some  ancient  line  of  Welsh 
princes  of  the  air,  that  have  long  lorded  it  over 


134 


BRACEBRJDGE  HALL. 


their  kingdom  of  clouds,  from  Wynnstay  to  the 
very  summit  of  Snowden,  or  the  brow  of  Pen- 
man mawr. 

Ever  since  the  Squire  received  this  invaluable 
present,  he  has  been  as  impatient  to  sally  forth 
and  make  proof  of  it,  as  was  Don  Quixote  to  as- 
say his  suit  of  armor.  There  have  been  some 
demurs  as  to  whether  the  bird  was  in  proper 
health  and  training  ; but  these  have  been  over- 
ruled by  the  vehement  desire  to  play  with  a new 
toy  ; and  it  has  been  determined,  right  or  wrong, 
in  season  or  out  of  season,  to  have  a day’s  sport 
in  hawking  to-morrow. 

The  Hall,  as  usual,  whenever  the  Squire  is 
about  to  make  some  new  sally  on  his  hobby,  is  all 
agog  with  the  thing.  Miss  Templeton,  who  is 
brought  up  in  reverence  for  all  her  guardian’s 
humors,  has  proposed  to  be  of  the  party,  and 
Lady  Lillycrafl  has  talked  also  of  riding  out  to 
the  scene  of  action  and  looking  on.  This  has 
gratified  the  old  gentleman  extremely ; he  hails  it 
as  an  auspicious  omen  of  the  revival  of  falconry, 
and  does  not  despair  but  the  time  will  come  when 
it  will  be  again  the  pride  of  a fine  lady  to  carry 
about  a noble  falcon  in  preference  to  a parrot  or 
a lap-dog. 

I have  amused  myself  with  the  bustling  prep- 
arations of  that  busy  spirit,  Master  Simon,  and 
the  continual  thwartings  he  receives  from  that 
genuine  son  of  a pepper-box,  old  Christy.  They 
have  had  half  a dozen  consultations  about  how 
the  hawk  is  to  be  prepared  for  the  morning’s 
sport.  Old  Nimrod,  as  usual,  has  always  got  in 


FALCONRY. 


135 


a pet,  upon  which  Master  Simon  has  invariably 
given  up  the  point,  observing,  in  a good-humored 
tone,  “ Well,  well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Christy  ; 
only  don’t  put  yourself  in  a passion ; ” a reply 
which  always  nettles  the  old  man  ten  times  more 
than  ever 


HAWKING. 

The  soaring  hawk,  from  fist  that  flies, 

Her  falconer  doth  constrain, 

Sometimes  to  range  the  ground  about, 

To  find  her  out  again  ; 

And  if  by  sight,  or  sound  of  bell, 

His  falcon  he  may  see, 

Wo  ho ! he  cries,  with  cheerful  voice  — 

The  gladdest  man  is  he. 

Handfull  of  Pleasant  Delites. 


T an  early  hour  this  morning  the  Hall 
was  in  a bustle,  preparing  for  the  sport 
of  the  day.  I heard  Master  Simon 
whistling  and  singing  under  my  window  at  sun- 
rise, as  he  was  preparing  the  jesses  for  the  hawk’s 
legs,  and  could  distinguish  now  and  then  a stanza 
of  one  of  his  favorite  old  ditties  : 

“ In  peascod  time,  when  hound  to  horn 
Gives  note  that  buck  be  kill’d ; 

And  little  boy  with  pipe  of  com 
Is  tending  sheep  a-field,”  &c. 

A hearty  breakfast,  well  flanked  by  cold  meats, 
was  served  up  in  the  great  hall.  The  whole 
garrison  of  retainers  and  hangers-on  were  in  mo- 
tion, reinforced  by  volunteer  idlers  from  the  vil- 
lage. The  horses  were  led  up  and  down  before 
the  door ; everybody  had  something  to  say,  and 


HA  WKING. 


137 


something  to  do,  and  hurried  hither  and  thither ; 
there  was  a direful  yelping  of  dogs : some  that 
were  to  accompany  us  being  eager  to  set  off,  and 
others  that  were  to  stay  at  home  being  whipped 
back  to  their  kennels.  In  short,  for  once,  the 
good  Squire’s  mansion  might  have  been  taken  as 
a good  specimen  of  one  of  the  rantipole  establish- 
ments of  the  good  old  feudal  times. 

Breakfast  being  finished,  the  chivalry  of  the 
Hall  prepared  to  take  the  field.  The  fair  Julia 
was  of  the  party,  in  a hunting-dress,  with  a light 
plume  of  feathers  in  her  riding-hat.  As  she 
mounted  her  favorite  galloway,  1 remarked  with 
pleasure  that  old  Christy  forgot  his  usual  crusti- 
ness, and  hastened  to  adjust  her  saddle  and  bridle. 
He  touched  his  cap  as  she  smiled  on  him  and 
thanked  him  ; and  then,  looking  round  at  the  other 
attendants,  gave  a knowing  nod  of  his  head,  in 
which  I read  pride  and  exultation  at  the  charm- 
ing appearance  of  his  pupil. 

Lady  Lillycraft  had  likewise  determined  to 
witness  the  sport.  She  was  dressed  in  her  broad 
white  beaver,  tied  under  the  chin,  and  a riding- 
habit  of  the  last  century.  She  rode  her  sleek, 
ambling  pony,  whose  motion  was  as  easy  as  a 
rocking-chair,  and  was  gallantly  escorted  by  the 
general,  who  looked  not  unlike  one  of  the  doughty 
heroes  in  the  old  prints  of  the  battle  of  Blenheim. 
The  parson,  likewise,  accompanied  her  on  the 
other  side ; for  this  was  a learned  amusement  in 
which  he  took  great  interest,  and,  indeed,  had 
given  much  counsel,  from  his  knowledge  of  old 
customs. 


138 


BRACEBRIDGE  IlALLu 


At  length  everything  was  arranged,  and  we 
set  off  from  the  Hall.  The  exercise  on  horseback 
puts  one  in  fine  spirits ; and  the  scene  was  gay 
and  animating.  The  young  men  of  the  family 
accompanied  Miss  Templeton.  She  sat  lightly 
and  gracefully  in  her  saddle,  her  plumes  dancing 
and  waving  in  the  air;  and  the  group  had  a 
charming  effect  as  they  appeared  and  disappeared 
among  the  trees,  cantering  along  with  the  bound- 
ing animation  of  youth.  The  Squire  and  Master 
Simon  rode  together,  accompanied  by  old  Christy, 
mounted  on  Pepper.  The  latter  bore  the  hawk 
on  his  fist,  as  he  insisted  the  bird  was  most  ac- 
customed to  him.  There  was  a rabble  rout  on 
foot,  composed  of  retainers  from  the  Hall,  and 
some  idlers  from  the  village,  with  two  or  three 
spaniels,  for  the  purpose  of  starting  the  game. 

A kind  of  corps  de  reserve  came  on  quietly  in 
the  rear,  composed  of  Lady  Lillycraft,  General 
Harbottle,  the  parson,  and  a fat  footman.  Her 
ladyship  ambled  gently  along  on  her  pony,  while 
the  general,  mounted  on  a tall  hunter,  looked 
down  upon  her  with  an  air  of  the  most  protect- 
ing gallantry. 

For  my  part,  being  no  sportsman,  I kept  with 
this  last  party,  or  rather  lagged  behind,  that  I 
might  take  in  the  whole  picture ; and  the  parson 
occasionally  slackened  his  pace  and  jogged  on  in 
company  with  me. 

The  sport  led  us  at  some  distance  from  the 
Hall,  in  a soft  meadow,  reeking  with  the  moist 
verdure  of  spring.  A little  river  ran  through  it, 
bordered  by  willows,  which  had  put  forth  their 


HA  WRING. 


139 


tender  early  foliage.  The  sportsmen  were  in 
quest  of  herons  which  were  said  to  keep  about 
this  stream. 

There  was  some  disputing,  already,  among  the 
leaders  of  the  sport.  The  Squire,  Master  Simon, 
and  old  Christy,  came  every  now  and  then  to  a 
pause,  to  consult  together,  like  the  field-officers  in 
an  army  ; and  I saw,  by  certain  motions  of  the 
head,  that  Christy  was  as  positive  as  any  old 
wrong-headed  German  commander. 

As  we  were  prancing  up  this,  quiet  meadow, 
every  sound  we  made  was  answered  by  a distinct 
echo  from  the  sunny  wall  of  an  old  building  on 
the  opposite  margin  of  the  stream  ; and  I paused 
to  listen  to  this  44  spirit  of  a sound,”  which  seems 
to  love  such  quiet  and  beautiful  places.  The 
parson  informed  me  that  this  was  the  ruin  of  an 
ancient  grange,  and  was  supposed,  by  the  country 
people,  to  be  haunted  by  a dobbie,  — a kind  of 
rural  sprite,  something  like  Robin  Goodfellow. 
They  often  fancied  the  echo  to  be  the  voice  of 
the  dobbie  answering  them,  and  were  rather  shy 
of  disturbing  it  after  dark.  He  added,  that  the 
Squire  was  very  careful  of  this  ruin,  on  account 
of  the  superstition  connected  with  it.  As  1 con- 
sidered this  local  habitation  of  an  44  airy  nothing,” 
I called  to  mind  the  fine  description  of  an  cell* 
in  Webster’s  44  Duchess  of  Malfy  ” : 

44  Yond  side  o1  th’  river  lies  a wall 

Piece  of  a cloister,  which  in  my  opinion 
Gives  the  best  echo  that  von  ever  heard: 

So  plain  is  the  distinction  of  our  words, 

That  many  have  supposed  it  a spirit 
'that  answer4  ” 


140 


BRACEBRIDGE  HaLL. 


The  parson  went  on  to  comment  on  a pleasing 
and  fanciful  appellation  which  the  Jews  of  old 
gave  to  the  echo,  which  they  called  Batli-kool, 
that  is  to  say,  “ the  daughter  of  the  voice  ; ” they 
considered  it  an  oracle,  supplying  in  the  second 
temple  the  want  of  the  urim  and  thummim,  with 
which  the  first  was  honored*  The  little  man 
was  just  entering  very  largely  and  learnedly  up- 
on the  subject,  when  we  were  startled  by  a pro- 
digious bawling,  shouting,  and  yelping.  A flight 
of  crows,  alarmed  by  the  approach  of  our  forces, 
had  suddenly  rose  from  a meadow  ; a cry  was  put 
up  by  the  rabble  rout  on  foot.  “ Now,  Christy  ! 
now  is  your  time,  Christy !”  The  enquire  and 
Master  Simon,  who  were  beating  \ p the  river 
banks  in  quest  of  a heron,  called  ouc  eagerly  to 
Christy  to  keep  quiet ; the  old  man,  vexed  and 
bewildered  by  the  confusion  of  voices,  completely 
lost  his  head  ; in  his  flurry  he  slipped  off  the  hood, 
cast  off  the  falcon,  and  away  flew  the  crows,  and 
away  soared  the  hawk. 

I had  paused  on  a rising  ground,  close  to  Lady 
Lillycraft  and  her  escort,  whence  I had  a good 
view  of  the  sport.  I was  pleased  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  party  in  the  meadow,  riding  along 
in  the  direction  that  the  bird  flew ; their  bright 
beaming  faces  turned  up  to  the  bright  skies  as 
they  watched  the  game ; the  attendants  on  foot 
scampering  along,  looking  up,  and  calling  out*, 
and  the  dogs  bounding  and  yelping  with  clamor- 
ous sympathy. 

The  hawk  had  singled  out  a quarry  from 
* Beleker’s  Monde  enchant^. 


11 A WRING. 


141 


among  the  carrion  crew.  It  was  curious  to  see 
the  efforts  of  the  two  birds  to  get  above  each 
uther ; one  to  make  the  fatal  swoop,  the  other  to 
avoid  it.  Now  they  crossed  athwart  a bright 
feathery  cloud,  and  now  they  were  against  a clear 
blue  sky.  I confess,  being  no  sportsman,  I was 
more  interested  for  the  poor  bird  that  was  striv- 
ing for  its  life,  than  for  the  hawk  that  was  play- 
ing the  part  of  a mercenary  soldier.  At  length 
the  hawk  got  the  upperhand,  and  made  a rush- 
ing stoop  at  her  quarry,  but  the  latter  made  as 
sudden  a surge  downwards,  and  slanting  up  again, 
evaded  the  blow,  screaming  and  making  the  best 
of  his  way  for  a dry  tree  on  the  brow  of  a 
neighboring  hill ; while  the  hawk,  disappointed 
}f  her  blow,  soared  up  again  into  the  air,  and 
appeared  to  be  “ raking  ” off.  It  was  in  vain  old 
Christy  called,  and  whistled,  and  endeavored  to 
lure  her  down ; she  paid  no  regard  to  him : and, 
indeed,  his  calls  were  drowned  in  the  shouts  and 
yelps  of  the  army  of  militia  that  had  followed  him 
into  the  field. 

Just  then  an  exclamation  from  Lady  Lilly  craft 
made  me  turn  my  head.  I beheld  a complete 
confusion  among  the  sportsmen  in  the  little  vale 
below  us.  They  were  galloping  and  running 
towards  the  edge  of  a bank  ; and  I was  shocked 
to  see  Miss  Templeton’s  horse  galloping  at  large 
without  his  rider.  I rode  to  the  place  to  which 
the  others  were  hurrying,  and  when  I reached 
the  bank,  which  almost  overhung  the  stream,  I 
saw  at  the  foot  of  it  the  fair  Julia,  pale,  bleeding, 
and  apparently  lifeless,  supported  in  the  arms  of 
her  frantic  lover. 


142 


BRA  CRBRIDGE  HALL. 


In  galloping  heedlessly  along,  with  her  eyea 
turned  upward,  she  had  unwarily  approached  too 
near  the  bank;  it  had  given  way  with  her,  and 
she  and  her  horse  had  been  precipitated  to  the 
pebbled  margin  of  the  river. 

I never  saw  greater  consternation.  The  cap- 
tain was  distracted,  Lady  Lillycraft  fainting,  the 
Squire  in  dismay,  and  Master  Simon  at  his  wit’? 
ends.  The  beautiful  creature  at  length  showed 
signs  of  returning  life ; she  opened  her  eyes 
looked  around  her  upon  the  anxious  group,  and 
comprehending  in  a moment  the  nature  of  the 
scene,  gave  a sweet  smile,  and  putting  her  hand 
in  her  lover’s,  exclaimed  feebly,  “ I am  not  much 
hurt,  Guy ! ” I could  have  taken  her  to  my  heart 
for  that  single  exclamation. 

It  was  found,  indeed,  that  she  had  escaped  al- 
most miraculously,  with  a contusion  of  the  head, 
a sprained  ankle,  and  some  slight  bruises.  After 
her  wbund  was  stanched,  she  was  taken  to  a 
neighboring  cottage,  until  a carriage  could  be 
summoned  to  convey  her  home ; and  when  this 
had  arrived,  the  cavalcade,  which  had  issued  forth 
so  gayly  on  this  enterprise,  returned  slowly  and 
pensively  to  the  Hall. 

I had  been  charmed  by  the  generous  spirit 
shown  by  this  young  creature,  who  amidst  pain 
and  danger  had  been  anxious  only  to  relieve  the 
distress  of  those  around  her.  I was  gratified, 
therefore,  by  the  universal  concern  displayed  by 
the  domestics  on  our  return.  They  came  crowd- 
ing down  the  avenue,  each  eager  to  render  assist- 
ance. The  butler  stood  ready  with  some  curb 


JIA  WRING. 


143 


ously  delicate  cordial ; the  old  housekeeper  waa 
provided  with  half  a dozen  nostrums,  prepared  by 
her  own  hands  according  to  the  family  receipt- 
book  ; while  her  niece,  the  melting  Phoebe,  hav- 
ing no  other  way  of  assisting,  stood  wringing  her 
hands,  and  weeping  aloud. 

The  most  material  effect  that  is  likely  to  follow 
this  accident,  is  a postponement  of  the  nuptials, 
which  were  close  at  hand.  Though  I commiser- 
ate the  impatience  of  the  captain  on  that  account, 
yet  I should  not  otherwise  be  sorry  at  the  de- 
lay, as  it  will  give  me  a better  opportunity  of 
studying  the  characters  here  assembled,  with 
which  I grow  more  and  more  entertained. 

I cannot  but  perceive  that  the  worthy  Squire 
is  quite  disconcerted  at  the  unlucky  result  of  his 
hawking  experiment,  and  this  unfortunate  illus- 
tration of  his  eulogy  on  female  equitation.  Old 
Christy,  too,  is  very  waspish,  having  been  sorely 
twitted  by  Master  Simon  for  having  let  his  hawk 
fly  at  carrion.  As  to  the  falcon,  in  the  confusion 
occasioned  by  the  fair  Julia’s  disaster,  the  bird 
was  totally  forgotten.  I make  no  doubt  she  has 
made  the  best  of  her  way  back  to  the  hospitable 
hall  of  Sir  Watkyn  Williams  Wynne  ; and  may 
very  possibly,  at  this  present  writing,  be  pluming 
her  wings  among  the  breezy  bowers  oi  Wynns  tay. 


ST.  MARK'S  EYE. 

O ’t  is  a fearful  thing  to  be  no  more. 

Or  if  to  be,  to  wander  after  death  ! 

To  walk  as  spirits  do,  in  brakes  all  day, 

And,  when  the  darkness  comes,  to  glide  in  paths 
That  lead  to  graves ; and  in  the  silent  vault, 

Where  lies  your  own  pale  shroud,  to  hover  o’er  it, 

Striving  to  enter  your  forbidden  corpse. 

Dryden. 

HE  conversation  this  evening  at  supper- 
table  took  a curious  turn  on  the  subject 
of  a superstition,  formerly  very  prevalent 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  relative  to  the  present 
night  of  the  year,  which  is  the  Eve  of  St.  Mark’s. 
It  was  believed,  the  parson  informed  us,  that  if 
any  one  would  watch  in  the  church-porch  on  this 
eve,  for  three  successive  years,  from  eleven  to 
one  o’clock  at  night,  he  would  see  on  the  third 
year  the  shades  of  those  of  the  parish  who  were 
to  die  in  the  course  of  the  year,  pass  by  him  into 
church,  clad  in  their  usual  apparel. 

Dismal  as  such  a sight  would  be,  he  assured 
us  that  it  was  formerly  a frequent  thing  for 
persons  to  make  the  necessary  vigils.  He  had 
known  more  than  one  instance  in  his  time.  One 
old  woman,  who  pretended  to  have  seen  this 
phantom  procession,  was  an  object  of  great  awe 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


145 


for  the  whole  year  afterwards,  and  caused  much 
uneasiness  and  mischief.  If  she  shook  her  head 
mysteriously  at  a person,  it  was  like  a death-war- 
rant ; and  she  had  nearly  caused  the  death  of  a 
sick  person  by  looking  ruefully  in  at  the  window. 

There  was  also  an  old  man,  not  many  years 
since,  of  a sullen,  melancholy  temperament,  who 
had  kept  two  vigils,  and  began  to  excite  some  talk 
in  the  village,  when,  fortunately  for  the  public 
comfort,  he  died  shortly  after  his  third  watching ; 
very  probably  from  a cold  that  he  had  taken,  as 
the  night  was  tempestuous.  It  was  reported 
about  the  village,  however,  that  he  had  seen  his 
own  phantom  pass  by  him  into  the  church. 

This  led  to  the  mention  of  another  superstition 
of  an  equally  strange  and  melancholy  kind,  which, 
however,  is  chiefly  confined  to  Wales.  It  is  re- 
specting what  are  called  corpse  candles,  little 
wandering  fires,  of  a pale  bluish  light,  that  move 
about  like  tapers  in  the  open  air,  and  are  sup- 
posed to  designate  the  way  some  corpse  is  to  go. 
One  was  seen  at  Lanylar,  late  at  night,  hover- 
ing up  and  down,  along  the  bank  of  the  Istwith, 
and  was  watched  by  the  neighbors  until  they 
were  tired,  and  went  to  bed.  Not  long  after 
wards  there  came  a comely  country  lass,  from 
Montgomeryshire,  to  see  her  friends,  who  dwelt 
>n  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  She  thought 
to  ford  the  stream  at  the  very  place  where  the 
light  had  been  first  seen,  but  was  dissuaded  on 
account  of  the  height  of  the  flood.  She  walked 
to  and  fro  along  the  bank,  just  where  the  candle 
had  moved,  waring  for  the  subsiding  of  the  wa 
10 


146 


BRACKBRIDGE  IIALL. 


ter.  She  at  length  endeavored  to  cross,  but  tbt 
poor  girl  was  drowned  in  the  attempt.* 

There  was  something  mournful  in  this  little 
anecdote  of  rural  superstition,  that  seemed  to  af- 
fect all  the  listeners.  Indeed,  it  is  curious  to  re- 
mark how  completely  a conversation  of  the  kind 
will  absorb  the  attention  of  a circle,  and  sobei 
down  its  gayety,  however  boisterous.  By  degrees 
I noticed  that  every  one  was  leaning  forward  over 
the  table,  with  eyes  earnestly  fixed  upon  the  par- 
son, and  at  the  mention  of  corpse  candles  which 
had  been  seen  about  the  chamber  of  a young 
lady  who  died  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding-day, 
Lady  Lillycraft  turned  pale. 

I have  witnessed  the  introduction  of  stories  of 
the  kind  into  various  evening  circles  ; they  were 
often  commenced  in  jest,  and  listened  to  with 
smiles  ; but  I never  knew  the  most  gay  or  the 
most  enlightened  of  audiences,  that  were  not,  if 
the  conversation  continued  for  any  length  of  time, 
completely  and  solemnly  interested  in  it.  There 
is,  I believe,  a degree  of  superstition  lurking  in 
every  mind  ; and  I doubt  if  any  one  can  thor- 
oughly examine  all  his  secret  notions  and  im- 
pulses without  detecting  it,  hidden,  perhaps,  even 
from  himself.  It  seems,  in  fact,  to  be  a part  of 
our  nature,  like  instinct  in  animals,  acting  inde- 
pendently of  our  reason.  It  is  often  found  exist- 
ing in  lofty  natures,  especially  those  that  are  poet- 
ical and  aspiring.  A great  and  extraoidmary 
poet  of  our  day,  whose  life  and  writings  evince  a 
mind  subject  to  powerful  exaltations,  is  said  to 
* Aubrey’s  Miscel. 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


147 


believe  in  omens  and  secret  intimations.  Caesar, 
it  is  well  known,  was  greatly  under  the  influence 
of  such  belief ; and  Napoleon  had  his  good  and 
evil  days,  and  his  presiding  star. 

As  to  the  worthy  parson,  I have  no  doubt  that 
b.e  is  strongly  inclined  to  superstition.  He  is  nat- 
urally credulous,  and  passes  so  much  of  his  time 
searching  out  popular  traditions  and  supernatural 
tales,  that  his  mind  has  probably  become  infected 
by  them.  He  has  lately  been  immersed  in  the 
“ Demonolatria  ” of  Nicholas  Remigius,  concerning 
supernatural  occurrences  in  Lorraine,  and  the 
writings  of  Joachimus  Camerarius,  called  by  Vos- 
sius  the  Phoenix  of  Germany;  and  he  entertains 
the  ladies  with  stories  from  them,  that  make  them 
almost  afraid  to  go  to  bed  at  night.  I have  been 
charmed  myself  with  some  of  the  wild  little  super- 
stitions which  he  has  adduced  from  Blefkenius, 
Scheffer,  and  others,  such  as  those  of  the  Lapland- 
ers about  the  domestic  spirits  which  wake  them 
at  night,  and  summon  them  to  go  and  fish  ; of 
Thor,  the  deity  of  thunder,  who  has  power  of  life 
and  death,  health  and  sickness,  and  who,  armed 
with  the  rainbow,  shoots  his  arrows  at  those  evil 
demons  which  live  on  the  tops  of  rocks  and  moun- 
tains, and  infest  the  lakes  ; of  the  Juhles  or  Juhla- 
folket,  vagrant  troops  of  spirits,  which  roam  the 
dir,  and  wander  up  and  down  by  forests  and  moun- 
tains, and  the  moonlight  sides  of  hills. 

The  parson  never  openly  professes  his  belief  in 
ghosts,  but  I have  remarked  that  he  has  a suspi- 
cious way  of  pressing  great  names  into  the  de- 
fence of  supernatural  doctrines,  and  making  phi- 


148 


Bit  A CEB  RID  GE  HALL. 


losophers  and  saints  fight  for  him.  He  expati- 
ates at  large  on  the  opinions  of  the  ancient  phi- 
losophers about  larves,  or  nocturnal  phantoms,  the 
spirits  of  the  wicked,  which  wandered  like  exiles 
about  the  earth  ; and  about  those  spiritual  beings 
which  abode  in  the  air,  but  descended  occasionally 
to  earth,  and  mingled  among  mortals,  acting  a? 
agents  between  them  and  the  gods.  Pie  quotes 
edso  from  Philo  the  rabbi,  the  contemporary  of 
the  apostles,  and,  according  to  some,  the  friend  of 
St.  Paul,  who  says  that  the  air  is  full  of  spirits 
of  different  ranks  ; some  destined  for  a time  to 
exist  in  mortal  bodies,  from  which,  being  emanci- 
pated, they  pass  and  repass  between  heaven  and 
earth,  as  agents  or  messengers  in  the  service  of 
the  Deity. 

But  the  worthy  little  man  assumes  a bolder 
tone  when  he  quotes  from  the  fathers  of  the 
Church ; such  as  St.  Jerome,  who  gives  it  as  the 
opinion  of  all  the  doctors,  that  the  air  is  filled  with 
powers  opposed  to  each  other  ; and  Lactantius, 
who  says  that  corrupt  and  dangerous  spirits  wan- 
der over  the  earth,  and  seek  to  console  themselves 
lor  their  own  fall  by  effecting  the  ruin  of  the  hu- 
man race ; and  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  who  is  of 
opinion  that  the  souls  of  the  blessed  have  knowl 
edge  of  what  passes  among  men,  the  same  as  an- 
gels have. 

I am  now  alone  in  my  chamber,  but  these 
themes  have  taken  such  hold  of  my  imagination, 
:hat  I cannot  sleep.  The  room  in  which  I sit 
is  just  fitted  to  foster  such  a state  of  mind.  The 
walls  are  hung  with  tapestry  the  figures  of  which 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


149 


are  faded,  and  look  like  unsubstantial  shapes  melt- 
ing away  from  sight.  Over  the  fireplace  is  the 
portrait  of  a lady,  who,  according  to  the  house* 
keeper’s  tradition,  pined  to  death  for  the  loss  of 
her  lover  in  the  battle  of  Blenheim.  She  has  a 
most  pale  and  plaintive  countenance,  and  seems  to 
fix  her  eyes  mournfully  upon  me.  The  family 
have  long  since  retired.  I have  heard  their  steps 
die  away,  and  the  distant  doors  clap  to  after  them. 
The  murmur  of  voices,  and  the  peal  of  remote 
laughter,  no  longer  reach  the  ear.  The  clock 
from  the  church,  in  which  so  many  of  the  former 
inhabitants  of  this  house  lie  buried,  has  chimed 
the  awful  hour  of  midnight. 

I have  sat  by  the  window  and  mused  upon  the 
dusky  landscape,  watching  the  lights  disappearing, 
one  by  one,  from  the  distant  village  ; and  the 
moon  rising  in  her  silent  majesty,  and  leading  up 
all  the  silver  pomp  of  heaven.  As  I have  gazed 
upon  these  quiet  groves  and  shadowy  lawns,  sil- 
vered over,  and  imperfectly  lighted  by  streaks  of 
dewy  moonshine,  my  mind  has  been  crowded  by 
“ thick  coming  fancies,”  concerning  those  spiritual 
beings  which 

“ walk  the  earth 

Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep.” 

Are  there,  indeed,  such  beings  ? Is  this  space 
between  us  and  the  Deity  filled  up  by  innumerable 
orders  of  spiritual  beings  forming  the  same  grada- 
tions between  the  human  soul  and  divine  perfec- 
tion, that  we  see  prevailing  from  humanity  down- 
wards to  the  meanest  insect  ? It  is  a sublime 
and  beautiful  doctrine,  inculcated  by  the  early 


150 


BliACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


fathers,  that  there  are  guardian  angels  appointed 
to  watch  over  cities  and  nations  ; to  take  care  of 
flic  welfare  of  good  men,  and  to  guard  and  guide 
the  steps  of  helpless  infancy.  “ Nothing,”  says 
St.  Jerome,  “ gives  us  a greater  idea  of  the  dignity 
of  our  soul,  than  that  God  has  given  each  of  us, 
at  the  moment  of  our  birth,  an  angel  to  have  care 
of  it.” 

Even  the  doctrine  of  departed  spirits  returning 
to  visit  the  scenes  and  beings  which  were  dear  to 
them  during  the  body’s  existence,  though  it  has 
been  debased  by  the  absurd  superstitions  of  the 
vulgar,  in  itself  is  awfully  solemn  and  sublime 
However  lightly  it  may  be  ridiculed,  yet  the  at 
tention  involuntarily  yielded  to  it  whenever  it  is 
made  the  subject  of  serious  discussion,  its  preva- 
lence in  all  ages  and  countries,  and  even  among 
newly  discovered  nations  that  have  had  no  pre- 
vious interchange  of  thought  with  other  parts  of 
the  world,  prove  it  to  be  one  of  those  mysterious, 
and  almost  instinctive  beliefs  to  which,  if  left  to 
ourselves,  we  should  naturally  incline. 

In  spite  of  all  the  pride  of  reason  and  philoso- 
phy, a vague  doubt  will  still  lurk  in  the  mind, 
and  perhaps  will  never  be  perfectly-  eradicated  ; 
as  it  is  concerning  a matter  that  does  not  admit 
of  positive  demonstration.  Everything  connected 
with  our  spiritual  nature  is  full  of  doubt  and 
difficulty.  “ We  are  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made ; ” we  are  surrounded  by  mysteries,  and  we 
are  mysteries  even  to  ourselves.  Who  yet  has 
been  able  to  comprehend  and  describe  the  nature 
of  the  soul,  its  connection  with  the  body,  or  in 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


151 


what  part  of  the  frame  it  is  situated  ? We  know 
merely  that  it  does  exist;  but  whence  it  came, 
and  when  it  entered  into  us,  and  how  it  is  re- 
tained, and  where  it  is  seated,  and  how  it  oper- 
ates, are  all  matters  of  mere  speculation  and  con- 
tradictory theories.  If,  then,  we  are  thus  ignorant 
of  this  spiritual  essence,  even  while  it  forms  a 
part  of  ourselves,  and  is  continually  present  to 
our  consciousness,  how  can  we  pretend  to  ascer- 
tain or  to  deny  its  powers  and  operations  when 
released  from  its  fleshly  prison-house  ? It  is 
more  the  manner,  therefore,  in  which  this  super- 
stition has  been  degraded,  than  its  intrinsic  ab- 
surdity, that  has  brought  it  into  contempt.  Raise 
it  above  the  frivolous  purposes  to  which  it  has 
been  applied,  strip  it  of  the  gloom  and  horror 
with  which  it  has  been  surrounded,  and  none  of 
the  whole  circle  of  visionary  creeds  could  more 
delightfully  elevate  the  imagination,  or  more 
tenderly  affect  the  heart.  It  would  become  a 
sovereign  comfort  at  the  bed  of  death,  soothing  the 
bitter  tear  wrung  from  us  by  the  agony  of  our 
mortal  separation.  What  could  be  more  consol- 
ing than  the  idea  that  the  souls  of  those  whom 
we  once  loved  were  permitted  to  return  and 
watch  over  our  welfare  ? That  affectionate  and 
guardian  spirits  sat  by  our  pillows  when  we  slept, 
keeping  a vigil  over  our  most  helpless  hours? 
That  beauty  and  innocence  which  had  languished 
into  the  tomb,  yet  smiled  unseen  around  us,  re- 
vealing themselves  in  those  blest  dreams  wherein 
we  live  over  again  the  hours  of  past  endearment  ? 
A.  belief  of  this  kind  would,  I should  think,  be  a 


152 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 


new  incentive  to  virtue  ; rendering  us  circumspect 
even  in  our  secret  moments,  from  the  idea  that 
those  we  once  loved  and  honored  were  invisible 
witnesses  of  all  our  actions. 

It  would  take  away,  too,  from  that  loneliness 
and  destitution  which  we  are  apt  to  feel  more  and 
more  as  we  get  on  in  our  pilgrimage  through  the 
wilderness  of  this  world,  and  find  that  those  who 
set  forward  with  us,  lovingly,  and  cheerily,  on 
the  journey,  have  one  by  one  dropped  away  from 
our  side.  Place  the  superstition  in  this  light,  and 
I confess  I should  like  to  be  a believer  in  it.  I 
see  nothing  in  it  that  is  incompatible  with  the  ten- 
der and  merciful  nature  of  our  religion,  nor  re- 
volting to  the  wishes  and  affections  of  the  heart. 

There  are  departed  beings  whom  I have  loved 
as  I never  again  shall  love  in  this  world,  — who 
have  loved  me  as  I never  again  shall  be  loved  ! 
If  such  beings  do  ever  retain  in  their  blessed 
spheres  the  attachments  which  they  felt  on  earth, 
if  they  take  an  interest  in  the  poor  concerns  of 
transient  mortality,  and  are  permitted  to  hold 
communion  with  those  whom  they  have  loved  on 
earth,  I feel  as  if  now,  at  this  deep  hour  of  night, 
in  this  silence  and  solitude,  I could  receive  their 
visitation  with  the  most  solemn,  but  unalloyed 
delight. 

In  truth,  such  visitations  would  be  too  happy 
for  this  world  ; they  would  be  incompatible  with 
the  nature  of  this  imperfect  state  of  being.  We 
are  here  placed  in  a mere  scene  of  spiritual  thral- 
dom and  restraint.  Our  souls  are  shut  in  and 
limited  by  bounds  and  barriers  ; shackled  by 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


153 


mortal  infirmities,  and  subject  to  all  the  gross  im- 
pediments of  matter.  In  vain  would  they  seek 
to  act  independently  of  the  body,  and  to  mingle 
together  in  spiritual  intercourse.  They  can  only 
act  here  through  their  fleshly  organs.  Their 
earthly  loves  are  made  up  of  transient  embraces 
and  long  separations.  The  most  intimate  friend- 
ship, of  what  brief  and  scattered  portions  of  time 
does  it  consist ! We  take  each  other  by  the  hand, 
and  we  exchange  a few  words  and  looks  of  kind- 
ness, and  we  rejoice  together  for  a few  short  mo- 
ments, and  then  days,  months,  years  intervene, 
and  we  see  and  know  nothing  of  each  other. 
Or,  granting  that  we  dwell  together  for  the  full 
season  of  this  our  mortal  life,  the  grave  soon  closes 
its  gates  between  us,  and  then  our  spirits  are 
doomed  to  remain  in  separation  and  widowhood ; 
until  they  meet  again  in  that  more  perfect  state 
of  being,  where  soul  will  dwell  with  soul  in  bliss- 
ful communion,- and  there  will  be  neither  death, 
nor  absence,  nor  anything  else  to  interrupt  our 
felicity. 

***  In  the  foregoing  paper  I have  alluded  to 
the  writings  of  some  of  the  old  Jewish  rabbins. 
They  abound  with  wild  theories  ; but  among  them 
are  many  truly  poetical  flights ; and  their  ideas 
are  often  very  beautifully  expressed.  Their  spec- 
ulations on  the  nature  of  angels  are  curious  and 
fanciful,  though  much  resembling  the  doctrines  of 
the  ancient  philosophers.  In  the  writings  of  the 
Rabbi  Eleazer  is  an  account  of  the  temptation  of 
our  first  parents,  and  the  fall  of  the  angels,  which 


154 


BRA  CLBRIDG  E HALL. 


the  parson  pointed  out  to  me  as  having  probably 
furnished  some  of  the  groundwork  for  u Paradise 
Lost.” 

According  to  Eleazer,  the  ministering  angels 
said  to  the  Deity,  “ What  is  there  in  man  that 
thou  makest  him  of  such  importance  ? Is  he  any- 
thing else  than  vanity  ? for  he  can  scarcely  reason 
a little  on  terrestrial  things.”  To  which  God  re- 
plied, “Do  you  imagine  that  I will  be  exalted 
and  glorified  only  by  you  here  above  ? I am  the 
same  below  that  I am  here.  Who  is  there  among 
you  that  can  call  all  the  creatures  by  their 
names?”  There  was  none  found  among  them 
that  could  do  so.  At  that  moment  Adam  arose, 
and  called  all  the  creatures  by  their  name.  See- 
ing which,  the  ministering  angels  said  among 
themselves,  “ Let  us  consult  together  how  we 
may  cause  Adam  to  sin  against  the  Creator,  other- 
wise he  will  not  fail  to  become  our  master.” 

Sammael,  who  was  a great  prince  in  the  heav- 
ens, was  present  at  this,  council,  with  the  saints  of 
the  first  order,  and  the  seraphim  of  six  bands. 
Sammael  chose  several  out  of  the  twelve  orders 
to  accompany  him,  and  descended  below,  for  the 
purpose  of  visiting  all  the  creatures  which  God 
had  created.  He  found  none  more  cunning  and 
more  fit  to  do  evil  than  the  serpent. 

The  Rabbi  then  treats  of  the  seduction  and 
the  fall  of  man ; of  the  consequent  fall  of  the  de- 
mon, and  the  punishment  which  God  inflicted  on 
Adam,  Eve,  and  the  serpent.  “ He  made  them 
all  come  before  him  ; pronounced  nine  maledic- 
tions on  Adam  and  Eve,  and  condemned  them  to 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


155 


Buffer  death  ; and  he  precipitated  Sammael  and 
all  his  band  from  heaven.  He  cut  off  the  feet  of 
the  serpent,  which  had  before  the  figure  of  a 
camel,  (Sammael  having  been  mounted  on  him,) 
and  he  cursed  him  among  all  beasts  and  ani- 
mals” 


GENTILITY. 

True  Gentrie  standeth  in  the  trade 

Of  rirtuous  life,  not  in  the  fleshly  line ; 

For  bloud  is  knit,  but  Gentrie  is  divine. 

Mirror  for  Magistrates . 

a HAVE  mentioned  some  peculiarities  of 
the  Squire  in  the  education  of  his  sons ; 
but  I would  not  have  it  thought  that 
his  instructions  were  directed  chiefly  to  their  per- 
sonal accomplishments.  He  took  great  pains  also 
to  form  their  minds,  and  to  inculcate  what  he 
calls  good  old  English  principles,  such  as  are  laid 
down  in  the  writings  of  Peachem  and  his  contem- 
poraries. There  is  one  author  of  whom  he  can- 
not speak  without  indignation,  which  is  Chester- 
field. He  avers  that  he  did  much,  for  a time,  to 
injure  the  true  national  character,  and  to  intro- 
duce, instead  of  open  manly  sincerity,  a hollow 
perfidious  courtliness.  “ His  maxims,”  he  affirms, 
‘•were  calculated  to  chill  the  delightful  enthusi- 
asm of  youth,  and  to  make  them  ashamed  of  that 
romance  which  is  the  dawn  of  generous  manhood, 
and  to  impart  to  them  a cold  polish  and  a pre- 
mature worldliness.” 

“ Many  of  Lord  Chesterfield’s  maxims  would 
make  a young  man  a mere  man  of  pleasure ; but 
an  English  gentleman  should  not  be  a mere  man 


GENTILITY. 


157 


ol  pleasure.  He  has  no  right  to  such  selfish  in- 
dulgence. His  ease,  his  leisure,  his  opulence,  are 
debts  due  to  his  country,  which  he  must  ever 
stand  ready  to  discharge.  He  should  be  a man 
at  all  points  ; simple,  frank,  courteous,  intelligent, 
accomplished,  and  informed  ; upright,  intrepid,  and 
disinterested ; one  who  can  mingle  among  free- 
men ; who  can  cope  with  statesmen  ; who  can 
champion  his  country  and  its  rights  either  at 
home  or  abroad.  In  a country  like  England, 
where  there  is  such  free  and  unbounded  scope  for 
the  exertion  of  intellect,  and  where  opinion  and 
example  have  such  weight  with  the  people,  every 
gentleman  of  fortune  and  leisure  should  feel  him- 
self bound  to  employ  himself  in  some  way  towards 
promoting  the  prosperity  or  glory  of  the  nation. 
In  a country  where  intellect  and  action  are  tram- 
melled and  restrained,  men  of  rank  and  fortune 
may  become  idlers  and  triflers  with  impunity  ; 
but  an  English  coxcomb  is  inexcusable  ; and  this, 
perhaps,  is  the  reason  why  he  is  the  most  offen- 
sive and  insupportable  coxcomb  in  the  world.” 
The  Squire,  as  Frank  Bracebridge  informs  me, 
would  often  hold  forth  in  this  manner  to  his  sons 
when  they  were  about  leaving  the  paternal  roof ; 
one  to  travel  abroad,  one  to  go  to  the  army,  and 
one  to  the  university.  He  used  to  have  them 
with  him  in  the  library,  which  is  hung  with  the 
portraits  of  Sydney,  Surrey,  Raleigh,  Wyat,  and 
others.  “ Look  at  those  models  of  true  English 
gentlemen,  my  sons,”  he  would  say  with  enthu- 
siasm ; “ those  were  men  that  wreathed  the  graces 
of  the  most  delicate  and  refined  taste  around  the 


158 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  BALL. 


stern  virtues  of  the  soldier  ; that  mingled  what 
was  gentle  and  gracious  with  what  was  hardy  and 
manly  ; that  possessed  the  true  chivalry  of  spirit 
which  is  the  exalted  essence  of  manhood.  They 
are  the  lights  by  which  the  youth  of  the  country 
should  array  themselves.  They  were  the  pat- 
terns and  idols  of  their  country  at  home  ; they 
were  the  illustrators  of  its  dignity  abroad.  ‘ Sur- 
rey/ says  Camden,  ‘ was  the  first  nobleman  that 
illustrated  his  high  birth  with  the  beauty  of  learn- 
ing. He  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  gallantest 
man,  the  politest  lover,  and  the  completest  gentle- 
man of  his  time/  And  as  to  Wyat,  his  friend 
Surrey  most  amiably  testifies  of  him,  that  his  per- 
son was  majestic  and  beautiful,  his  visage  6 stern 
and  mild  ’ ; that  he  sung,  and  played  the  lute 
with  remarkable  sweetness  ; spoke  foreign  lan- 
guages with  grace  and  fluency,  and  possessed  an 
inexhaustible  fund  of  wit.  And  see  what  a high 
commendation  is  passed  upon  these  illustrious 
friends  : 6 They  were  the  two  chieftains,  who,  hav- 
ing travelled  into  Italy,  and  there  tasted  the  sweet 
and  stately  measures  and  style  of  the  Italian  poe- 
try, greatly  polished  our  rude  and  homely  man- 
ner of  vulgar  poetry  from  what  it  had  been  be- 
fore, and  therefore  may  be  justly  called  the  re- 
formers of  our  English  poetry  and  style/  And 
Sir  Philip  Sydney,  who  has  left  us  such  monu- 
ments of  elegant  thought  and  generous  sentiment, 
and  who  illustrated  his  chivalrous  spirit  so  glori- 
ously in  the  field.  And  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  the 
elegant  courtier,  the  intrepid  soldier,  the  enter- 
prising discoverer,  the  enlightened  philosopher 


GENTILITY. 


159 


the  magnanimous  martyr.  These  are  the  men 
tor  English  gentlemen  to  study.  Chesterfield, 
with  his  cold  and  courtly  maxims,  would  have 
chilled  and  impoverished  such  spirits.  He  would 
have  blighted  all  the  budding  romance  of  their  tem- 
peraments. Sydney  would  never  have  written  his 
k Arcadia,’  nor  Surrey  have  challenged  the  world 
in  vindication  of  the  beauties  of  his  Geraldine. 
These  are  the  men,  my  sons,”  the  Squire  will  con- 
tinue, “ that  show  to  what  our  national  character 
may  be  exalted,  when  its  strong  and  powerful  qual- 
ities are  duly  wrought  up  and  refined.  The  sol- 
idest  bodies  are  capable  of  the  highest  polish  ; and 
there  is  no  character  that  may  be  wrought  to  a 
more  exquisite  and  unsullied  brightness  than  that 
of  the  true  English  gentleman.” 

When  Guy  was  about  to  depart  for  the  army, 
the  Squire  again  took  him  aside,  and  gave  him  a 
long  exhortation.  He  warned  him  against  that 
affectation  of  cold-blooded  indifference  which  he 
was  told  was  cultivated  by  the  young  British  offi- 
cers, among  whom  it  was  a study  to  “ sink  the 
soldier”  in  the  mere  man  of  fashion.  “A  sol- 
dier,” said  he,  “ without  pride  and  enthusiasm  in  his 
profession,  is  a mere  sanguinary  hireling.  Nothing 
distinguishes  him  from  the  mercenary  bravo  but 
a spirit  of  patriotism,  or  thirst  for  glory.  It  is  the 
fashion,  nowadays,  my  son,”  said  he,  “ to  laugh  at 
the  spirit  of  chivalry  ; when  that  spirit  is  really 
extinct,  the  profession  of  the  soldier  becomes  a 
mere  trade  of  blood.”  He  then  set  before  him 
the  conduct  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  who  is 
his  mirror  of  chivalry ; valiant,  generous,  affable* 


160 


BRA  CE BRIDGE  BALL. 


humane;  gallant  in  the  field.  But  when  he  came 
to  dwell  on  his  courtesy  toward  his  prisoner,  the 
king  of  F ranee  ; how  he  received  him  in  his  tent, 
rather  as  a conqueror  than  as  a captive  ; attended 
on  him  at  table  like  one  of  his  retinue;  rode  un- 
covered beside  him  on  his  entry  into  London, 
mounted  on  a common  palfrey,  while  his  prisoner 
was  mounted  in  state  on  a white  steed  of  stately 
beauty  ; the  tears  of  enthusiasm  stood  in  the  old 
gentleman’s  eyes. 

Finally,  on  taking  leave,  the  good  Squire  put 
in  his  son’s  hands,  as  a manual,  one  of  his  favorite 
old  volumes,  the  “ Life  of  the  Chevalier  Bayard,” 
by  Godefroy  ; on  a blank  page  of  which  he  had 
written  an  extract  from  the  Morte  d’ Arthur,  con- 
taining the  eulogy  of  Sir  Ector  over  the  body  of 
Sir  Launcelot  of  the  Lake,  which  the  Squire  con- 
siders as  comprising  the  excellencies  of  a true 
soldier.  “ Ah,  Sir  Launcelot ! thou  wert  head  of 
all  Christian  knights  ; now  there  thou  best : thou 
were  never  matched  of  none  earthly  knights- 
liands.  And  thou  wert  the  curtiest  knight  that 
ever  bare  shield.  And  thou  were  the  truest 
friend  to  thy  lover  that  ever  bestrood  horse ; and 
thou  were  the  truest  lover  of  a sinfull  man  that 
ever  loved  woman.  And  thou  were  the  kindest 
man  that  ever  strook  with  sword  ; and  thou  were 
the  goodliest  person  that  ever  came  among  the 
presse  of  knights.  And  thou  were  the  meekest 
man  and  the  gentlest  that  ever  eate  in  hall  among 
ladies.  And  thou  were  the  sternest  knight  to  thy 
mortal  foe  that  ever  put  speare  in  rest.” 


FORTUNE-TELLING. 


Each  city,  each  town,  and  every  village, 

Affords  us  either  an  alms  or  pillage. 

And  if  the  weather  be  cold  and  raw, 

Then  in  a barn  we  tumble  on  straw. 

If  warm  and  fair,  by  yea-cock  and  nay-cock, 

The  fields  will  afford  us  a hedge  or  a hay-cock. 

Merry  BEaaARS. 


BPffllS  I was  walking  one  evening  with  the 
xll  Oxonian,  Master  Simon,  and  the  gen- 
Ma]  eral,  in  a meadow  not  far  from  the  vil- 
lage, we  heard  the  sound  of  a fiddle,  rudely 
played,  and  looking  in  the  direction  whence  it 
came,  we  saw  a thread  of  smoke  curling  up  from 
among  the  trees.  The  sound  of  music  is  always 
attractive ; for,  wherever  there  is  music,  there  is 
good-humor,  or  good-will.  We  passed  along  a 
footpath,  and  had  a peep,  through  a break  in 
the  hedge,  at  the  musician  and  his  party,  when 
the  Oxonian  gave  us  a wink,  and  told  us  that 
if  we  would  follow  him,  we  should  have  some 
sport. 

It  proved  to  be  a gypsy  encampment,  consisting 
of  three  or  four  little  cabins  or  tents,  made  of 
blankets  and  sail-cloth,  spread  over  hoops  stuck 
in  the  ground.  It  was  on  one  side  of  a green 
lane,  close  under  a hawthorn  hedge,  with  a broad 
11 


162 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL . 


beech-tree  spreading  above  it.  A small  rill  tin* 
kled  along  close  by  through  the  fresh  sward,  that 
looked  like  a carpet. 

A tea-kettle  was  hanging  by  a crooked  piece 
of  iron  over  a fire  made  from  dry  sticks  and 
leaves,  and  two  old  gypsies,  in  red  cloaks,  sat 
crouched  on  the  grass,  gossiping  over  their  even- 
ing cup  of  tea;  for  these  creatures,  though  they 
live  in  the  open  air,  have  their  ideas  of  fireside 
comforts.  There  were  two  or  three  children 
sleeping  on  the  straw  with  which  the  tents  were 
littered  ; a couple  of  donkeys  were  grazing  in  the 
lane,  and  a thievish-looking  dog  was  lying  before 
the  fire.  Some  of  the  younger  gypsies  were 
dancing  to  the  music  of  a fiddle,  played  by  a 
tall,  slender  stripling,  in  an  old  frock-coat,  with  a 
peacock’s  feather  stuck  in  his  hatband. 

As  we  approached,  a gypsy  girl,  with  a pair  of 
fine  roguish  eyes,  came  up,  and,  as  usual,  offered  to 
tell  our  fortunes.  I could  not  but  admire  a cer- 
tain degree  of  slattern  elegance  about  the  baggage. 
Her  long  black  silken  hair  was  curiously  plaited 
in  numerous  small  braids,  and  negligently  put  up 
in  a picturesque  style  that  a painter  might  have 
been  proud  to  have  devised.  Her  dress  was  of 
figured  chintz,  rather  ragged,  and  not  over-clean, 
but  of  a variety  of  most  harmonious  and  agreea- 
ble colors  ; for  these  beings  have  a singularly  fine 
eye  for  colors.  Her  straw  hat  was  in  her  hand, 
and  a red  cloak  thrown  over  one  arm. 

The  Oxonian  offered  at  once  to  have  his  for- 
tune told,  and  the  girl  began  with  the  usual  vol- 
ubility of  her  race ; but  he  drew  her  on  one  side, 


FORTUNE TELLING . 


163 


near  the  hedge,  as  he  said  he  had  no  idea  of  hav- 
ing his  secrets  overheard.  I saw  he  was  talking 
to  her  instead  of  she  to  him,  and  by  his  glancing 
towards  us  now  and  then,  that  he  was  giving  the 
baggage  some  private  hints.  "When  they  returned 
to  us,  he  assumed  a very  serious  air.  “ Zounds  ! ” 
said  he,  “ it ’s  very  astonishing  how  these  creatures 
come  by  their  knowledge  ; this  girl  has  told  me 
some  things  that  I thought  no  one  knew  but 
myself ! ” 

The  girl  now  assailed  the  general : “ Come, 
your  honor,”  said  she,  “ I see  by  your  face  you  ’re 
a lucky  man  ; but  you  ’re  not  happy  in  your  mind  ; 
you  ’re  not,  indeed,  sir : but  have  a good  heart, 
and  give  me  a good  piece  of  silver,  and  I ’ll  tell 
you  a nice  fortune.” 

The  general  had  received  all  her  approaches 
with  a banter,  and  had  suffered  her  to  get  hold 
of  his  hand ; but  at  the  mention  of  the  piece  of 
silver,  he  hemmed,  looked  grave,  and  turning  to 
us,  asked  if  we  had  not  better  continue  our  walk. 
“ Come,  my  master,”  said  the  girl,  archly,  “ you ’d 
not  be  in  such  a hurry  if  you  knew  all  that  I 
could  tell  you  about  a fair  lady  that  has  a notion 
for  you.  Come,  sir,  old  love  burns  strong ; there ’s 
many  a one  comes  to  see  weddings  that  go  away 
brides  themselves  ! ” — Here  the  girl  whispered 
something  in  a low  voice,  at  which  the  general 
colored  up,  was  a little  fluttered,  and  suffered 
himself  to  be  drawn  aside  under  the  hedge,  where 
he  appeared  to  listen  to  her  with  great  earnest- 
ness, and  at  the  end  paid  her  half-a-crown  with 
the  air  of  a man  that  has  got  the  worth  of  his 
money. 


164 


BRA  CE BRIDGE  HALL. 


The  girl  next  made  her  attack  upon  Master 
Simon,  who,  however,  was  too  old  a bird  to  be 
caught,  knowing  that  it  would  end  in  an  attack 
upon  his  purse,  about  which  he  is  a little  sensi- 
tive. As  he  has  a great  notion,  however,  of  be- 
ing considered  a roister,  he  chucked  her  under 
the  chin,  played  her  off  with  rather  broad  jokes, 
and  put  on  something  of  the  rake-helly  air  that 
we  see  now  and  then  assumed  on  the  stage  by 
the  sad-boy  gentlemen  of  the  old  school.  “ Ah, 
your  honor,”  said  the  girl,  with  a malicious  leer, 
“ you  were  not  in  such  a tantrum  last  year,  when 
I told  you  about  the  widow  you  know  who  ; but 
if  you  had  taken  a friend’s  advice,  you ’d  never 
have  come  away  from  Doncaster  races  with  a flea 
in  your  ear  ! ” 

There  was  a secret  sting  in  this  speech  that 
seemed  quite  to  disconcert  Master  Simon.  He 
jerked  away  his  hand  in  a pet,  smacked  his  whip, 
whistled  to  his  dogs,  and  intimated  that  it  was 
high  time  to  go  home.  The  girl,  however,  was 
determined  not  to  lose  her  harvest.  She  now 
turned  upon  me,  and,  as  I have  a weakness  of 
spirit  where  there  is  a pretty  face  concerned, 
she  soon  wheedled  me  out  of  my  money,  and, 
in  return,  read  me  a fortune  ; which,  if  it  prove 
true,  and  I am  determined  to  believe  it,  will 
make  me  one  of  the  luckiest  men  in  the  chron- 
icles of  Cupid. 

I saw  that  the  Oxonian  was  at  the  bottom  of 
nil  this  oracular  mystery,  and  was  disposed  to 
amuse  himself  with  the  general,  whose  tender  ap- 
proaches to  the  widow  have  attracted  the  notice 


FOR  TUNE-  TELLING. 


165 


of  the  wag.  I was  a little  curious,  however,  to 
know  the  meaning  of  the  dark  hints  which  had  so 
suddenly  disconcerted  Master  Simon  ; and  took 
occasion  to  fall  in  the  rear  with  the  Oxonian  on 
our  way  home,  when  he  laughed  heartily  at  my 
questions,  and  gave  me  ample  information  on  the 
subject. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  Master  Simon 
has  met  with  a sad  rebuff  since  my  Christmas 
visit  to  the  Hall.  He  used  at  that  time  to  be 
joked  about  a widow,  a fine  dashing  woman,  as 
he  privately  informed  me.  I had  supposed  the 
pleasure  he  betrayed  on  these  occasions  resulted 
from  the  usual  fondness  of  old  bachelors  for 
being  teased  about  getting  married,  and  about 
flirting,  and  being  fickle  and  false-hearted.  I 
am  assured,  however,  that  Master  Simon  had 
really  persuaded  himself  the  widow  had  a kind- 
ness for  him  ; in  consequence  of  which  he  had 
been  at  some  extraordinary  expense  in  new 
clothes,  and  had  actually  got  Frank  Bracebridge 
to  order  him  a coat  from  Stultz.  He  began  to 
throw  out  hints  about  the  importance  of  a man’s 
settling  himself  in  life  before  lie  grew  old ; he 
would  look  grave  whenever  the  widow  and  mat- 
rimony were  mentioned  in  the  same  sentence ; 
and  privately  asked  the  opinion  of  the  Squire 
and  parson  about  the  prudence  of  marrying  a 
widow  with  a rich  jointure,  but  who  had  several 
children. 

An  important  member  of  a great  family  con- 
nection cannot  harp  much  upon  the  theme  of  mat- 


166 


BRA  C KB  RID  GE  HALL. 


rimony  without  its  taking  wind ; and  it  soon  got 
buzzed  about  that  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge  was 
actually  gone  to  Doncaster  races,  with  a new 
horse  ; but  that  he  meant  to  return  in  a curricle 
with  a lady  by  his  side.  Master  Simon  did,  in- 
deed, go  to  the  races,  and  that  with  a new  horse  ; 
and  the  dashing  widow  did  make  her  appearance  in 
her  curricle ; but  it  was  unfortunately  driven  by 
a strapping  young  Irish  dragoon,  with  whom  even 
Master  Simon’s  self-complacency  would  not  allow 
him  to  venture  into  competition,  and  to  whom  she 
was  married  shortly  afterwards. 

It  was  a matter  of  sore  chagrin  to  Master  Si- 
mon for  several  months,  having  never  before  been 
fully  committed.  The  dullest  head  in  the  family 
had  a joke  upon  him  ; and  there  is  no  one  that 
likes  less  to  be  bantered  than  an  absolute  joker. 
He  took  refuge  for  a time  at  Lady  Lillycraft’s 
until  the  matter  should  blow  over ; and  occupied 
himself  by  looking  over  her  accounts,  regulating 
the  village  choir,  and  inculcating  loyalty  into  a 
pet  bullfinch,  by  teaching  him  to  whistle  “ God 
save  the  King.” 

He  has  now  pretty  nearly  recovered  from  the 
mortification  ; holds  up  his  head,  and  laughs  as 
much  as  any  one ; again  affects  to  pity  married 
men,  and.  is  particularly  facetious  about  widows, 
when  Lady  Lillycraft  is  not  by.  His  only  time 
of  trial  is  when  the  general  gets  hold  of  him,  who 
is  infinitely  heavy  and  persevering  in  his  wag- 
gery, and  will  interweave  a dull  joke  through 
the  various  topics  of  a whole  dinner-time.  Mas- 


FORTUNE-  TELLING . 


167 


ter  Simon  often  parries  these  attacks  by  a stanza 
from  his  old  work  of  “ Cupid’s  Solicitor  for 
Love  ” : 


* ’T  is  in  vain  to  wooe  a widow  over  long 

In  once  or  twice  her  mind  you  may  perceive; 
Widows  are  subtle,  be  they  old  or  young, 

And  by  their  wiles  young  men  they  will  deceive.* 5 


LOVE-CHARMS. 

Come,  do  not  weep,  my  girl, 

Forget  him,  pretty  pensiveness  ; there  will 
Come  others,  every  day,  as  good  as  he. 

Sir  J.  Suckling. 


approach  of  a wedding  in  a family  is 
rays  an  event  of  great  importance, 
; particularly  so  in  a household  like 
this,  in  a retired  part  of  the  country.  Master  Si- 
mon, who  is  a pervading  spirit,  and,  through  means 
of  the  butler  and  housekeeper,  knows  everything 
that  goes  forward,  tells  me  that  the  maid-servants 
are  continually  trying  their  fortunes,  and  that  the 
servants’-hall  has  of  late  been  quite  a scene  of  in- 
cantation. 

It  is  amusing  to  notice  how  the  oddities  of  the 
head  of  a family  How  down  through  all  the 
branches.  The  Squire,  in  the  indulgence  of  his 
love  of  everything  which  smacks  of  old  times,  has 
held  so  many  grave  conversations  with  the  parson 
at  table,  about  popular  superstitions  and  tradition- 
al rites,  that  they  have  been  carried  from  the 
parlor  to  the  kitchen  by  the  listening  domestics, 
and,  being  apparently  sanctioned  by  such  high 
authority,  the  whole  house  has  become  infected  by 
them. 


LOV/>  CHARMS, 


169 


The  servants  are  all  versed  in  the  common  modes 
of  trying  luck,  and  the  charms  to  insure  constancy. 
They  read  their  fortunes  by  drawing  strokes  in 
the  ashes,  or  by  repeating  a form  of  words,  and 
looking  in  a pail  of  water.  St.  Mark’s  Eve,  I 
am  told,  was  a busy  time  with  them;  being  an 
appointed  night  for  certain  mystic  ceremonies. 
Several  of  them  sowed  hemp-seed  to  be  reaped 
by  their  true  lovers ; and  they  even  ventured  upon 
the  solemn  and  fearful  preparation  of  the  dumb* 
cake.  This  must  be  done  fasting,  and  in  silence. 
The  ingredients  are  handed  down  in  traditional 
form.  “An  eggshell  full  of  salt,  an  eggshell  full 
of  malt,  and  an  eggshell  full  of  barley-meal.” 
When  the  cake  is  ready,  it  is  put  upon  a pan 
over  the  fire,  and  the  future  husband  will  ap- 
pear, turn  the  cake,  and  retire  ; but  if  a word  is 
spoken,  or  a fast  is  broken,  during  this  awful 
ceremony,  there  is  no  knowing  what  horrible 
consequences  would  ensue  ! 

The  experiments,  in  the  presenj  instance,  came 
to  no  result ; they  that  sowed  the  hemp-seed  for- 
got the  magic  rhyme  that  they  were  to  pronounce, 
so  the  true  lover  never  appeared  ; and  as  to  the 
dumb-cake,  what  between  the  awful  stillness  they 
had  to  keep,  and  the  awfulness  of  the  midnight 
hour,  their  hearts  failed  them  when  they  had  put 
the  cake  in  the  pan  ; so  that,  on  the  striking  of 
the  great  house-clock  in  the  servants’-hall,  they 
were  seized  with  a sudden  panic,  and  ran  out  of 
the  room,  to  which  they  did  not  return  until  morn- 
ing, when  they  found  the  mystic  cake  burnt  to  a 
cinder. 


170 


BRA  CK BRIDGE  HALL. 


The  most  persevering  at  these  spells,  however 
is  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  housekeeper’s  niece.  As 
she  is  a kind  of  privileged  personage,  and  rather 
idle,  she  has  more  time  to  occupy  herself  with 
these  matters.  She  has  always  had  her  head  full 
of  love  and  matrimony.  She  knows  the  dream - 
book  by  heart,  and  is  quite  an  oracle  among  the 
little  girls  of  the  family,  who  always  come  to  her 
to  interpret  their  dreams  in  the  mornings. 

During  the  present  gayety  of  the  house,  how- 
ever, the  poor  girl  has  worn  a face  full  of  trouble ; 
and,  to  use  the  housekeeper’s  words,  “ has  fallen 
into  a sad  hystericky  way  lately.”  It  seems  that 
she  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  village,  where 
her  father  was  parish  clerk,  and  she  was  an  early 
playmate  and  sweetheart  of  young  Jack  Tibbets. 
Since  she  has  come  to  live  at  the  Hall,  however, 
her  head  has  been  a little  turned.  Being  very 
pretty,  and  naturally  genteel,  she  has  been  much 
noticed  and  indulged  ; and  being  the  housekeep- 
er’s niece,  she  has  held  an  equivocal  station  be- 
tween a servant  and  a companion.  She  has 
learnt  something  of  fashions  and  notions  among 


the  young  ladies,  which  have  effected  quite  a met- 
amorphosis ; insomuch  that  her  finery  at  church 
on  Sundays  has  given  mortal  offence  to  her  for- 
mer intimates  in  the  village.  This  lias  occa 
sioned  the  misrepresentations  which  have  awak 
ened  the  implacable  family  pride  of  Dame  Tibbets 
But  what  is  worse,  Phoebe,  having  a spice  of 
coquetry  in  her  disposition,  showed  it  on  one  or 
two  occasions  to  her  lover,  which  produced  a 
downright  quarrel ; and  Jack,  being  very  proud 


i.UVK-CHARMS. 


171 


and  fiery,  has  absolutely  turned  his  back  upon 
her  for  several  successive  Sundays. 

The  poor  girl  is  full  of  sorrow  and  repentance, 
and  would  fain  make  up  with  her  lover  ; but  he 
feels  his  security,  and  stands  aloof.  In  this  he 
is  doubtless  encouraged  by  his  mother,  who  is 
continually  reminding  him  what  he  owes  to  his 
family ; for  this  same  family  pride  seems  doomed 
to  be  the  eternal  bane  of  lovers. 

As  I hate  to  see  a pretty  face  in  trouble,  I 
have  felt  quite  concerned  for  the  luckless  Phoebe, 
ever  since  I heard  her  story.  It  is  a sad  thing 
to  be  thwarted  in  love  at  any  time,  but  particu- 
larly so  at  this  tender  season  of  the  year,  when 
every  living  thing,  even  to  the  very  butterfly,  is 
sporting  with  its  mate  ; and  the  green  fields,  and 
the  budding  groves,  and  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
and  the  sweet  smell  of  the  flowers,  are  enough 
to  turn  the  head  of  a love-sick  girl.  I am  told 
that  the  coolness  of  young  Ready-Money  lies  very 
heavy  at  poor  Phoebe’s  heart.  Instead  of  sing- 
ing about  the  house  as  formerly,  she  goes  about 
pale  and  sighing,  and  is  apt  to  break  into  tears 
when  her  companions  are  full  of  merriment. 

Mrs.  Hannah,  the  vestal  gentlewoman  of  my 
Lady  Lillycraft,  has  had  long  talks  and  walks 
with  Phoebe,  up  and  down  the  avenue,  of  an 
evening  ; and  has  endeavored  to  squeeze  some 
of  her  own  verjuice  into  the  other’s  milky  na- 
ture. She  speaks  with  contempt  and  abhorrence 
of  the  whole  sex,  and  advises  Phoebe  to  despise 
sill  the  men  as  heartily  as  she  does.  But  Phoebe’s 
loving  temper  is  not  to  be  curdled  ; she  has  no 


172 


BRA  CBBRID  G E HALL . 


such  tiling  as  hatred  or  contempt  for  mankind  in 
her  whole  composition.  She  has  all  the  simple 
fondness  of  heart  of  poor,  weak,  loving  woman  ; 
and  her  only  thoughts  at  present  are,  how  to  con- 
ciliate and  reclaim  her  wayward  swain. 

The  spells  and  love-charms,  which  are  matters 
of  sport  to  the  other  domestics,  are  serious  con- 
cerns with  this  love-stricken  damsel.  She  is  con- 
tinually trying  her  fortune  in  a variety  of  ways. 
I am  told  that  she  has  absolutely  fasted  for  six 
Wednesdays  and  three  Fridays  successively,  hav- 
ing understood  that  it  was  a sovereign  charm  to 
insure  being  married  to  one’s  liking  within  the 
year.  She  carries  about,  also,  a lock  of  her 
sweetheart’s  hair,  and  a riband  he  once  gave  her, 
being  a mode  of  producing  constancy  in  a lover. 
She  even  went  so  far  as  to  try  her  fortune  by 
the  moon,  which  has  always  had  much  to  do  with 
lovers’*dreams  and  fancies.  For  this  purpose  she 
went  out  in  the  night  of  the  full  moon,  knelt  on 
a stone  in  the  meadow,  and  repeated  the  old  tra- 
ditional rhyme  : 

“All  hail  to  thee,  moon,  all  hail  to  thee; 

I pray  thee,  good  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  youth  who  my  future  husband  shall  be.” 

When  she  came  back  to  the  house,  she  was 
faint  and  pale,  and  went  immediately  to  bed. 
The  next  morning  she  told  the  porter’s  wife  that 
she  had  seen  some  one  close  by  the  hedge  in  the 
meadow,  which  she  was  sure  was  young  Tibbets , 
at  any  rate,  she  had  dreamt  of  him  all  night; 
both  of  which,  the  old  dame  assured  her,  were 


LOVE-CHARMS. 


173 


most  happy  signs.  It  has  since  turned  out  that 
the  person  in  the  meadow  was  old  Christy,  the 
huntsman,  who  was  walking  his  nightly  rounds 
with  the  great  stag-hound  ; so  that  Phoebe’s  faith 
in  the  charm  is  completely  shaken. 


THE  LIBRARY. 


ESTERDAY  the  fair  Julia  made  her 
first  appearance  down-stairs  since  her 
accident ; and  the  sight  of  her  spread 
an  universal  cheerfulness  through  the  household. 
She  was  extremely  pale,  however,  and  could  not 
walk  without  pain  and  difficulty.  She  was  as- 
sisted, therefore,  to  a sofa  in  the  library,  which 
is  pleasant  and  retired,  looking  out  among  trees, 
and  so  quiet  that  the  little  birds  come  hopping 
upon  the  windows,  and  peering  curiously  into  the 
apartment.  Here  several  of  the  family  gathered 
round,  and  devised  means  to  amuse  her,  and 
make  the  day  pass  pleasantly.  Lady  Lillycraft 
lamented  the  want  of  some  new  novel  to  while 
away  the  time  ; and  was  almost  in  a pet,  because 
the  “ Author  of  Waverley  ” had  not  produced  a 
work  for  the  last  three  months. 

There  was  a motion  made  to  call  on  the  par- 
son for  some  of  his  old  legends  or  ghost-stories  ; 
but  to  this  Lady  Lillycraft  objected,  as  they  were 
apt  to  give  her  the  vapors.  General  Harbottle 
gave  a minute  account,  for  the  sixth  time,  of  the 
disaster  of  a friend  in  India,  who  had  his  leg 
bitten  offi  by  a tiger  whilst  he  was  hunting, — 


THE  LIBRARY. 


175 


and  was  proceeding  to  menace  tlie  company  with 
a chapter  or  two  about  Tippoo  Saib. 

At  length  the  captain  bethought  himself,  and 
said  he  believed  he  had  a manuscript  tale  lying 
m one  corner  of  his  campaigning  trunk,  which, 
if  he  could  find,  and  the  company  were  desirous, 
he  would  read  to  them.  The  offer  was  eagerly 
accepted.  He  retired,  and  soon  returned  with  a 
roll  of  blotted  manuscript,  in  a very  gentleman- 
like, but  nearly  illegible  hand,  and  a great  part 
written  on  cartridge  paper. 

“ It  is  one  of  the  scribblings,”  said  he,  “ of  my 
poor  friend,  Charles  Lightly,  of  the  dragoons. 
He  was  a curious,  romantic,  studious,  fanciful  fel- 
low ; the  favorite,  and  often  the  unconscious  butt 
of  his  fellow-officers,  who  entertained  themselves 
with  his  eccentricities.  He  was  in  some  of  the 
hardest  service  in  the  peninsula,  and  distin- 
guished himself  by  his  gallantry.  When  the  in- 
tervals of  duty  permitted,  he  was  fond  of  roving 
about  the  country,  visiting  noted  places,  and  was 
extremely  fond  of  Moorish  ruins.  When  at  his 
quarters,  he  was  a great  scribbler,  and  passed 
much  of  his  leisure  with  his  pen  in  his  hand. 

“ As  I was  a much  younger  officer,  and  a very 
young  man,  he  took  me,  in  a manner,  under  his  care, 
and  we  became  close  friends.  He  used  often  to 
read  his  writings  to  me,  having  a great  confidence 
in  my  taste,  for  I always  praised  them.  Poor  fel- 
low ! he  was  shot  down  close  by  me  at  Waterloo. 
We  lay  wounded  together  for  some  time  during 
a hard  contest  that  took  place  near  at  hand.  As 
I was  least  hurt,  I tried  to  relieve  him,  and  .to 


L76 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


stanch  the  blood  which  flowed  from  a wound  ir 
his  breast.  He  lay  with  his  head  in  my  lap,  and 
looked  up  thankfully  in  my  face,  but  shook  his 
head  faintly,  and  made  a sign  that  it  was  all  over 
with  him ; and,  indeed,  he  died  a few  minutes  af- 
terwards, just  as  our  men  had  repulsed  the  enemy, 
and  came  to  our  relief.  I have  his  favorite  dog 
and  his  pistols  to  this  day,  and  several  of  his  man- 
uscripts, which  he  gave  to  me  at  different  times. 
The  one  I am  now  going  to  read  is  a tale  which 
he  said  he  wrote  in  Spain,  during  the  time  that 
he  lay  ill  of  a wound  received  at  Salamanca.” 

We  now  arranged  ourselves  to  hear  the  story. 
The  captain  seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  beside 
the  fair  Julia,  who  I had  noticed  to  be  somewhat 
affected  by  the  picture  he  had  carelessly  drawn  of 
wounds  and  dangers  in  a field  of  battle.  She  now 
leaned  her  arm  fondly  on  his  shoulder,  and  her 
eye  glistened  as  it  rested  on  the  manuscript  of  the 
poor  literary  dragoon.  Lady  Lillycraft  buried 
herself  in  a deep,  well-cushioned  elbow-chair 
Her  dogs  were  nestled  on  soft  mats  at  her  feet 
and  the  gallant  general  took  his  station  in  an 
arm-chair  at  her  side,  and  toyed  with  her  elegantly 
ornamented  work-bag.  The  rest  of  the  circle 
being  all  equally  well  accommodated,  the  captain 
began  his  story ; a copy  of  which  I have  pro  - 
cured  for  the  benefit  of  the  reader. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 

What  a life  doe  I lead  with  my  master  ; nothing  but  blowing  ot 
Dfcllowes,  beating  of  spirits,  and  scraping  of  croslets!  It  is  a verj 
secret  science,  for  none  almost  can  understand  the  language  of  it 
.Sublimation,  almigation,  calcination,  rubilication,  albification,  and 
fermentation;  with  as  many  termes  unpossible  to  be  uttered  as  the 
arte  to  be  compassed.  — Lilly’s  Gallathea. 


NCE  upon  a time,  in  the  ancient  city 
of  Grenada,  there  sojourned  a young 
man  of  the  name  of  Antonio  de  Cas- 
tros.  He  wore  the  garb  of  a student  of  Sala- 
manca, and  was  pursuing  a course  of  reading  in 
the  library  of  the  university  ; and,  at  intervals 
of  leisure,  indulging  his  curiosity  by  examining 
those  remains  of  Moorish  magnificence  for  which 
Grenada  is  renowned. 

Whilst  occupied  in  his  studies,,  he  frequently 
noticed  an  old  man  of  singular  appearance,  who 
was  likewise  a visitor  to  the  library.  He  was 
lean  and  withered,  though  apparently  more  from 
study  than  from  age.  His  eyes,  though  bright 
and  visionary,  were  sunk  in  his  head,  and  thrown 
into  shade  by  overhanging  eyebrows.  His  dress 
was  always  the  same,  — a black  doublet,  a short 
black  coat,  very  rusty  and  threadbare,  a small 
ruff,  and  a large  overshadowing  hat. 

His  appetite  for  knowledge  seemed  insatiable. 

12 


178 


BRA  CEB  RIDGE  BALL. 


He  would  pass  whole  days  in  the  library,  absorbed 
in  study,  consulting  a multiplicity  of  authors,  as 
though  he  were  pursuing  some  interesting  sub- 
ject through  all  its  ramifications ; so  that,  when 
evening  came,  he  was  almost  buried  among  books 
and  manuscripts. 

The  curiosity  of  Antonio  was  excited,  and  he 
inquired  of  the  attendants  concerning  the  stran- 
ger. No  one  could  give  him  any  information, 
excepting  that  he  had  been  for  some  time  past  a 
casual  frequenter  of  the  library  ; that  his  reading 
lay  chiefly  among  works  treating  of  the  occult 
sciences,  and  that  he  was  particularly  curious  in 
his  inquiries  after  Arabian  manuscripts.  They 
added,  that  he  never  held  communication  with 
any  one,  excepting  to  ask  for  particular  works ; 
that,  after  a fit  of  studious  application,  he  would 
disappear  for  several  days,  and  even  weeks,  and 
when  he  revisited  the  library,  he  would  look  more 
withered  and  hazard  than  ever.  The  student 
felt  interested  by  this  account ; he  was  leading 
rather  a desultory  life,  and  had  all  that  capricious 
curiosity  which  springs  up  in  idleness.  He  deter- 
mined to  make  himself  acquainted  with  this  book 
worm,  and  find  out  who  and  what  he  was. 

The  next  time  that  he  saw  the  old  man  at  the 
library,  he  commenced  his  approaches  by  request- 
ing permission  to  look  into  one  of  the  volumes 
with  which  the  unknown  appeared  to  have  done. 
The  latter  merely  bowed  his  head  in  token  of 
assent.  After  pretending  to  look  through  the 
volume  with  great  attention,  lie  returned  it  with 
many  acknowledgments.  The  stranger  made  nc 
reply. 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA  179 


u ]\Iay  I ask,  senor,”  said  Antonio,  with  some 
hesitation,  “ may  I ask  what  you  are  searching 
after  in  all  these  books  P ” 

The  old  man  raised  his  head,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  surprise  at  having  his  studies  interrupted 
for  the  lirst  time,  and  by  so  intrusive  a question, 
i ( e surveyed  the  student  with  a side-glance  from 
head  to  foot : “ Wisdom,  my  son,”  said  he,  calmly  : 
“ and  the  search  requires  every  moment  of  my  at- 
tention.” He  then  cast  his  eyes  upon  his  book 
and  resumed  his  studies. 

“ But,  father,”  said  Antonio,  “ cannot  you  spare 
a moment  to  point  out  the  road  to  others  ? It  is 
to  experienced  travellers,  like  you,  that  we  stran- 
gers in  the  path  of  knowledge  must  look  for  di- 
rections on  our  journey.” 

The  stranger  looked  disturbed  : “ I have  not 
time  enough,  my  son,  to  learn,”  said  he,  “ much 
less  to  teach.  I am  ignorant  myself  of  the  path 
of  true  knowledge ; how  then  can  I show  it  to 
others  ? ” 

“ Well,  but  father  ” — 

“ Senor,”  said  the  old  man,  mildly,  but  ear- 
nestly, “ you  must  see  that  I have  but  a few  more 
steps  to  the  grave.  In  that  short  space  have  I 
to  accomplish  the  whole  business  of  my  existence. 
1 have  no  time  for  words ; every  word  is  as  one 
grain  of  sand  of  my  glass  wasted.  Suffer  me  to 
be  alone.” 

There  was  no  replying  to  so  complete  a closing 
of  the  door  of  intimacy.  The  student  found 
tiimself  calmly  but  totally  repulsed.  Though  cu- 
rious and  inquisitive,  he  was  naturally  modest,  and 


180 


bracebridgk  ball. 


on  after-thoughts  blushed  at  his  own  intrusion. 
Ilis  mind  soon  became  occupied  by  other  objects. 
He  passed  several  days  wandering  among  the 
mouldering  piles  of  Moorish  architecture,  those 
melancholy  monuments  of  an  elegant  and  volup- 
tuous people.  He  paced  the  deserted  halls  of  the 
Alhambra,  the  paradise  of  the  Moorish  kings. 
He  visited  the  great  court  of  the  lions,  famous  for 
the  perfidious  massacre  of  the  gallant  Abencer- 
rages.  Pie  gazed  with  admiration  at  its  Mosaic 
cupolas,  gorgeously  painted  in  gold  and  azure ; its 
basins  of  marble,  its  alabaster  vase,  supported  by 
lions,  and  storied  with  inscriptions. 

His  imagination  kindled  as  he  wandered  among 
these  scenes.  They  were  calculated  to  awaken 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  a youthful  mind.  Most  of 
the  halls  have  anciently  been  beautified  by  foun- 
tains. The  fine  taste  of  the  Arabs  delighted  in 
the  sparkling  purity  and  reviving  freshness  of 
water,  and  they  erected,  as  it  were,  altars  on 
every  side,  to  that  delicate  element.  Poetry 
mingles  with  architecture  in  the  Alhambra.  It 
breathes  along  the  very  walls.  Wherever  Anto- 
nio turned  his  eye,  he  beheld  inscriptions  in  Ara- 
bic, wherein  the  perpetuity  of  Moorish  power  and 
splendor  within  these  walls  was  confidently  pre- 
dicted. Alas  ! how  has  the  prophecy  been  falsi- 
fied ! Many  of  the  basins,  where  the  fountains 
had  once  thrown  up  their  sparkling  showers,  were 
dry  and  dusty.  Some  of  the  palaces  were  turned 
into  gloomy  convents>  and  the  barefoot  monk 
paced  through  those  courts  which  had  once  glit- 
tered with  the  array  and  echoed  to  the  music  of 
Moorish  dim  dry. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  181 


In  the  course  of  his  rambles,  the  student  more 
lhan  once  encountered  the  old  man  of  the  library 
He  was  always  alone,  and  so  full  of  thought  as 
not  to  notice  any  one  about  him.  He  appeared 
to  be  intent  upon  studying  those  half-buried  in- 
scriptions, which  are  found,  here  and  there,  among 
the  Moorish  ruins,  and  seem  to  murmur  from  the 
earth  the  tale  of  former  greatness.  The  greater 
part  of  these  have  since  been  translated ; but 
they  were  supposed  by  many,  at  the  time,  to  con- 
tain symbolical  revelations,  and  golden  maxims 
of  the  Arabian  sages  and  astrologers.  As  An- 
tonio saw  the  stranger  apparently  deciphering 
these  inscriptions,  he  felt  an  eager  longing  to 
make  his  acquaintance,  and  to  participate  in  his 
curious  researches  ; but  the  repulse  he  had  met 
with  at  the  library  deterred  him  from  making  any 
further  advances. 

He  had  directed  his  steps  one  evening  to  the 
sacred  mount  which  overlooks  the  beautiful  val- 
ley watered  by  the  Darro,  the  fertile  plains  of  the 
Vega,  and  all  that  rich  diversity  of  vale  and 
mountain  which  surrounds  Grenada  with  an 
earthly  paradise.  It  was  twilight  when  he  found 
himself  at  the  place  where,  at  the  present  day, 
are  situated  the  chapels  known  by  the  name  of 
the  Sacred  Furnaces.  They  are  so  called  from 
grottos,  in  which  some  of  the  primitive  saints 
are  said  to  have  been  burnt.  At  the  time  of 
Antonio’s  visit  the  place  was  an  object  of  much 
euriosity.  In  an  excavation  of  these  grottos, 
Beveral  manuscripts  had  recently  been  discovered 
engraved  on  plates  of  lead.  They  were  written 


18? 


HR  A CKBRIDGE  HALL. 


in  the  Arabian  language,  excepting  one,  which 
was  in  unknown  characters.  The  Pope  had  is- 
sued a bull  forbidding  any  one,  under  pain  of 
excommunication,  to  speak  of  these  manuscripts. 
The  prohibition  had  only  excited  the  greater  cu- 
riosity ; and  many  reports  were  whispered  about, 
that  these  manuscripts  contained  treasures  of  dark 
and  forbidden  knowledge. 

As  Antonio  was  examining  the  place  whence 
these  mysterious  manuscripts  had  been  drawn,  he 
again  observed  the  old  man  of  the  library  wan- 
dering  among  the  ruins.  His  curiosity  was  now 
fully  awakened ; the  time  and  place  served  to 
stimulate  it.  He  resolved  to  watch  this  groper 
after  secret  and  forgotten  lore,  and  to  trace  him 
to  his  habitation.  There  was  something  like  ad- 
venture in  the  thing,  which  charmed  his  roman- 
tic disposition.  He  followed  the  stranger,  there- 
fore, at  a little  distance  ; at  first  cautiously,  but  he 
soon  observed  him  to  be  so  wrapped  in  his  own 
thoughts,  as  to  take  little  heed  of  external  objects. 

They  passed  along  the  skirts  of  the  mountain, 
and  then  by  the  shady  banks  of  the  Darro.  They 
pursued  their  way,  for  some  distance  from  Gre- 
nada, along  a lonely  road  leading  among  the  hills. 
The  gloom  of  evening  was  gathering,  and  it  was 
quite  dark  when  the  stranger  stopped  at  the  por- 
tal of  a solitary  mansion. 

It  appeared  to  be  a mere  wing,  or  ruined  frag- 
ment, of  what  had  once  been  a pile  of  some  con- 
sequence. The  walls  were  of  great  thickness,  the 
windows  narrow,  and  generally  secured  by  iron 
bars.  The  door  was  of  planks,  studded  with  iron 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  J 83 


spikes,  and  had  been  of  great  strength,  though  at 
present  much  decayed.  At  one  end  of  the  man- 
sion was  a ruinous  tower,  in  the  Moorish  style  of 
architecture.  The  edifice  had  probably  been  a 
country  retreat,  or  castle  of  pleasure,  during  the 
occupation  of  Grenada  by  the  Moors,  and  rendered 
sufficiently  strong  to  withstand  any  casual  assault 
in  those  warlike  times. 

The  old  man  knocked  at  the  portal.  A light 
appeared  at  a small  window  just  above  it,  and  a 
female  head  looked  out : it  might  have  served  as 
a model  for  one  of  Raphael’s  saints.  The  hair 
was  beautifully  braided,  and  gathered  in  a silken 
net ; and  the  complexion,  as  well  as  could  be 
judged  from  the  light,  was  that  soft,  rich  brunette 
so  becoming  in  southern  beauty. 

“ It  is  I,  my  child,”  said  the  old  man.  The  face 
instantly  disappeared,  and  soon  after  a wicket- 
door  in  the  large  portal  opened.  Antonio,  who 
had  ventured  near  to  the  building,  caught  a tran- 
sient sight  of  a delicate  female  form.  A pair  of 
fine  black  eyes  darted  a look  of  surprise  at  seeing 
a stranger  hovering  near,  and  the  door  was  pre 
cipitately  closed. 

There  was  something  in  this  sudden  gleam  of 
beauty  that  wonderfully  struck  the  imagination 
of  the  student.  It  was  like  a brilliant  flashing 
from  its  dark  casket.  He  sauntered  about,  re- 
garding the  gloomy  pile  with  increasing  interest. 
A few  simple,  wild  notes,  from  among  some  rocks 
and  trees  at  a little  distance,  attracted  his  atten- 
tion. He  found  there  a group  of  Gitanas,  a vag- 
abond gypsy  race,  which  at  that  time  abounded 


184 


BRA  CRB  It  l b J E HALL. 


in  Spain,  and  lived  in  hovels  and  caves  of  the 
hills  about  the  neighborhood  of  Grenada.  Some 
were  busy  about  a fire,  and  others  were  listening 
to  the  uncouth  music  which  one  of  their  compan- 
ions, seated  on  a ledge  of  the  rock,  was  making 
with  a split  reed. 

Antonio  endeavored  to  obtain  some  information 
of  them  concerning  the  old  building  and  its  inhab  • 
itants.  The  one  who  appeared  to  be  their  spokes- 
man was  a gaunt  fellow,  with  a subtle  gait,  a whis- 
pering voice,  and  a sinister  roll  of  the  eye.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  on  the  student’s  inquiries, 
and  said,  “All  was  not  right  in  that  building. 
An  old  man  inhabited  it,  whom  nobody  knew,  and 
whose  family  appeared  to  be  only  a daughter  and 
a female  servant.  I and  my  companions,”  he 
added,  u live  up  among  the  neighboring  hills : 
and  as  we  have  been  about  at  night,  we  have  of- 
ten seen  strange  lights  and  heard  strange  sounds 
from  the  tower.  Some  of  the  country  people, 
who  work  in  the  vineyards  among  the  hills,  be- 
lieve the  old  man  deals  in  the  black  art,  and  they 
are  not  over-fond  of  passing  near  the  tower  at 
night.  But  for  our  parts,  we  Gitanas  are  not  a 
people  to  trouble  ourselves  with  fears  of  that  kind.” 

The  student  endeavored  to  gain  more  precise 
information,  but  they  had  none  to  furnish  him. 
They  began  to  be  solicitous  for  a compensation 
for  what  they  had  already  imparted  ; and  recollect- 
ing the  loneliness  of  the  place,  and  the  vagabond 
character  of  his  companions,  he  was  glad  to  give 
them  a gratuity  and  hasten  homewards. 

He  sat  down  to  his  studies,  but  his  brain  was 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  185 


too  full  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard ; his  eye 
was  upon  the  page,  but  his  fancy  still  returned  to 
the  tower,  and  he  was  continually  picturing  the 
little  window,  with  the  beautiful  head  peeping 
out ; or  the  door  half  open,  and  the  nymph-like 
form  within.  He  retired  to  bed,  but  the  same 
objects  haunted  his  dreams.  He  was  young  and 
susceptible  ; and  the  excited  state  of  his  feelings, 
from  wandering  among  the  abodes  of  departed 
grace  pmd  gallantry,  had  predisposed  him  for  a 
sudden  impression  from  female  beauty. 

The  next  morning  he  strolled  again  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  tower.  It  was  still  more  forlorn 
by  the  broad  glare  of  day  than  in  the  gloom  of 
evening.  The  walls  were  crumbling,  and  weeds 
and  moss  were  growing  in  every  crevice.  It  had 
the  look  of  a prison  rather  than  a dwelling-house. 
In  one  angle,  however,  he  remarked  a window 
which  seemed  an  exception  to  the  surrounding 
squalidness.  There  was  a curtain  drawn  within 
it,  and  flowers  standing  on  the  window-stone. 
Whilst  he  was  looking  at  it,  the  curtain  was  par- 
tially withdrawn,  and  a delicate  white  arm,  of 
the  most  beautiful  roundness,  was  put  forth  to 
water  the  flowers. 

The  student  made  a noise  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  fair  florist.  He  succeeded.  The  cur- 
tain was  further  drawn,  and  he  had  a glance  of 
the  same  lovely  face  he  had  seen  the  evening  be- 
fore ; it  was  but  a mere  glance  ; the  curtain  again 
fell,  and  the  casement  closed.  All  this  was  calcu- 
lated to  excite  the  feelings  of  a romantic  youth. 
Had  he  seen  the  unknown  under  other  circum- 


186 


BRA  CEBRIL  G K II ALL. 


stances,  it  is  probable  he  would  not  have  been 
struck  with  her  beauty;  but  this  apoearance  of 
being  shut  up  and  kept  apart  gave  her  the  value 
of  a treasured  gem.  He  passed  and  repassed 
before  the  house  several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  but  saw  nothing  more.  He  was  there 
again  in  the  evening.  The  whole  aspect  of  the 
house  was  dreary.  The  narrow  windows  emitted 
no  rays  of  cheerful  light,  to  indicate  social  life 
within.  Antonio  listened  at  the  portal,  but  no 
sound  of  voices  readied  his  ear.  Just  then  he 
heard  the  clapping  to  of  a distant  door,  and  fear- 
ing to  be  detected  in  the  unworthy  act  of  eaves- 
dropping, he  precipitately  drew  off  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road,  and  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a 
ruined  archway. 

He  now  remarked  a light  from  a window  in 
the  tower.  It  was  fitful  and  changeable  ; com- 
monly feeble  and  yellowish,  as  if  from  a lamp  ; 
with  an  occasional  glare  of  some  vivid  metallic 
color,  followed  by  a dusky  glow.  A column  of 
dense  smoke  would  now  and  then  rise  in  the  air, 
and  hang  like  a canopy  over  the  tower.  There 
was  altogether  such  a loneliness  and  seeming 
mystery  about  the  building  and  its  inhabitants, 
that  Antonio  was  half  inclined  to  indulge  the 
country  people’s  notions,  and  to  fancy  it  the  den 
of  some  powerful  sorcerer,  and  the  fair  damsel  he 
had  seen  to  be  some  spellbound  beauty. 

After  some  time  had  elapsed,  a light  appeared 
in  the  window  where  he  had  seen  the  beautiful 
arm.  The  curtain  was  down,  but  it  was  so  thin 
that  he  could  perceive  the  shadow  of  some  one 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  187 


passing  and  repassing  between  it  and  the  light 
He  fancied  he  could  distinguish  that  the  form  was 
delicate  ; and  from  the  alacrity  of  its  movements, 
it  was  evidently  youthful.  He  had  not  a doubt 
but  this  was  the  bedchamber  of  his  beautiful  un- 
known. 

Presently  he  heard  the  sound  of  a guitar,  and 
a female  voice  singing.  He  drew  near  cautiously, 
and  listened.  It  was  a plaintive  Moorish  ballad, 
and  he  recognized  in  it  the  lamentations  of  one 
of  the  Abencerrages  on  leaving  the  walls  of  lovely 
Grenada.  It  was  full  of  passion  and  tenderness. 
It  spoke  of  the  delights  of  early  life ; the  hours 
of  love  it  had  enjoyed  on  the  banks  of  the  Darro, 
and  among  the  blissful  abodes  of  the  Alhambra. 
It  bewailed  the  fallen  honors  of  the  Abencerrages 
and  imprecated  vengeance  on  their  oppressors. 
Antonio  was  affected  by  the  music^  It  singu- 
larly coincided  with  the  place.  It  was  like  the 
voice  of  past  times  echoed  in  the  present,  and 
breathing  among  the  monuments  of  its  departed 
glories. 

The  voice  ceased ; after  a time  the  light  dis- 
appeared, and  all  was  still.  “ She  sleeps  ! ” said 
Antonio,  fondly.  He  lingered  about  the  building 
with  the  devotion  with  which  a lover  lingers 
about  the  bower  of  sleeping  beauty.  The  rising 
moon  threw  its  silver  beams  on  the  gray  walls, 
and  glittered  on  the  casement.  The  late  gloomy 
landscape  gradually  became  flooded  with  its  ra- 
diance. Finding,  therefore,  that  he  could  no 
longer  move  about  in  obscurity,  and  fearful  that 
his  loiterings  might  be  observed,  he  reluctantly 
re  tired. 


188 


BRA  CEBR  ID  G E HALL . 


The  curiosity  which  had  at  first  drawn  the 
young  man  to  the  tower  was  now  seconded  by 
feelings  of  a more  romantic  kind.  His  studies 
were  almost  entirely  abandoned.  He  maintained 
a kind  of  blockade  of  the  old  mansion  ; he  would 
take  a book  with  him,  and  pass  a great  part  of 
the  day  under  the  trees  in  its  vicinity  ; keeping 
a vigilant  eye  upon  it,  and  endeavoring  to  as- 
certain what  were  the  walks  of  his  mysterious 
charmer.  She  never  went  out,  however,  except 
to  mass,  when  she  was  accompanied  by  her 
father.  He  waited  at  the  door  of  the  church, 
and  offered  her  the  holy  water,  in  the  hopes 
of  touching  her  hand : a little  office  of  gallantry 
common  in  Catholic  countries.  She  modestly 
declined,  without  raising  her  eyes  to  see  who 
made  the  offer,  and  always  took  it  herself  from 
the  font.  She  was  attentive  in  her  devotion ; 
her  eyes  were  never  taken  from  the  altar  or  the 
priest ; and  on  returning  home,  her  countenance 
was  almost  entirely  concealed  by  her  mantilla. 

Antonio  had  now  carried  on  the  pursuit  for 
several  days,  and  was  hourly  getting  more  and 
more  interested  in  the  chase,  but  never  a step 
nearer  to  the  game.  His  lurkings  about  the  house 
had  probably  been  noticed,  for  he  no  longer  saw 
the  fair  face  at  the  window,  nor  the  white  arm 
put  forth  to  water  the  flowers.  His  only  conso- 
lation was  to  repair  nightly  to  his  post  of  obser- 
vation and  listen  to  her  warbling ; and  if  by 
chance  he  could  catch  a sight  of  her  shadow,  pass- 
ing and  repassing  before  the  window,  he  thought 
himself  most  fortunate. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA,  189 


As  lie  was  indulging  in  one  of  these  evening 
vigils,  which  were  complete  revels  of  the  imagb 
nation,  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  made 
him  withdraw  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the  ruined 
archway,  opposite  to  the  tow(r.  A cavalier  ap- 
proached, wrapped  in  a large  Spanish  cloak. 
He  paused  under  the  window  of  the  tower,  and 
after  a little  while  began  a serenade,  accompanied 
by  his  guitar,  in  the  usual  style  of  Spanish  gal- 
lantry. His  voice  was  rich  and  manly ; he 
touched  the  instrument  with  skill,  and  sang  with 
amorous  and  impassioned  eloquence.  The  plume 
of  his  hat  was  buckled  by  jewels  that  sparkled 
in  the  moonbeams ; and,  as  he  played  on  the 
guitar,  his  cloak  falling  off  from  one  shoulder 
showed  him  to  be  richly  dressed.  He  was  evi- 
dently a person  of  rank. 

The  idea  now  flashed  across  Antonio’s  mind, 
that  the  affections  of  his  unknown  beauty  might 
be  engaged.  She  was  young,  and  doubtless  sus- 
ceptible ; and  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Spanish 
females  to  be  deaf  and  insensible  to  music  and 
admiration.  The  surmise  brought  with  it  a feel- 
ing of  dreariness.  There  was  a pleasant  dream 
of  several  days  suddenly  dispelled.  He  had 
never  before  experienced  anything  of  the  tender 
passion  ; and,  as  its  morning  dreams  are  always 
delightful,  he  would  fain  have  continued  in  the 
delusion. 

“ But  what  have  I to  do  with  her  attachments  ?” 
thought  he ; “ I have  no  claim  on  her  heart,  nor 
even  on  her  acquaintance.  How  do  I know  that 
she  is  worthy  of  affection  ? Or  if  she  is,  must  not 


190 


BRACEB1UDGE  FL-,  LL. 


30  gallant  a lover  as  this,  with  his  jewels,  his  rank, 
and  his  detestable  music,  have  completely  capti- 
vated her  ? What  idle  humor  is  this  that  I have 
fallen  into  ? I must  again  to  my  books.  Study, 
study  will  soon  chase  away  all  these  idle  fancies  ! ” 

The  more  he  thought,  however,  the  more  he 
became  entangled  hi  the  spell  which  his  lively 
imagination  had  woven  round  him  ; and  now  that 
a rival  had  appeared,  in  addition  to  the  other  ob- 
stacles that  environed  this  enchanted  beauty,  she 
appeared  ten  times  more  lovely  and  desirable.  It 
was  some  slight  consolation  to  him  to  perceive 
that  the  gallantry  of  the  unknown  met  with  no 
apparent  return  from  the  tower.  The  light  at 
the  window  was  extinguished.  The  curtain  re- 
mained undrawn,  and  none  of  the  customary  sig- 
nals were  given  to  intimate  that  the  serenade  was 
accepted. 

The  cavalier  lingered  for  some  time  about  the 
place,  and  sang  several  other  tender  airs  with  a 
taste  and  feeling  that  made  Antonio’s#heart  ache ; 
at  length  he  slowly  retired.  The  student  re- 
mained with  folded  arms,  leaning  against  the 
ruined  arch,  endeavoring  to  summon  up  resolutioi 
to  * depart ; but  a romantic  fascination  still  en 
chained  him  to  the  place.  “ It  is  the  last  time, 
said  he,  willing  to  compromise  between  his  feel- 
ings and  his  judgment,  u it  is  the  last  time  ; then 
let  me  enjoy  the  dream  a few  moments  longer.” 

As  his  eye  ranged  about  the  old  building  to 
take  a farewell  look,  he  observed  the  strange  light 
m the  tower,  which  he  had  noticed  on  a former 
occasion.  It  kept  beaming  up,  and  declining,  as 


THE  STUDENT  Ob'  SALAMANCA.  191 


before.  A pillar  of  smoke  rose  in  the  air,  and 
hung  in  sable  volumes.  It  was  evident  the  old 
man  was  busied  in  some  of  those  operations  which 
had  gained  him  the  reputation  of  a sorcerer 
throughout  the  neighborhood. 

Suddenly  an  intense  and  brilliant  glare  shone 
through  the  casement,  followed  by  a loud  report, 
and  then  a fierce  and  ruddy  glow.  A figure  ap- 
peared at  the  window,  uttering  cries  of  agony  or 
alarm,  but  immediately  disappeared,  and  a body  of 
smoke  and  flame  whirled  out  of  the  narrow  aper- 
ture. Antonio  rushed  to  the  portal,  and  knocked 
at  it  with  vehemence.  He  was  only  answered  by 
loud  shrieks,  and  found  that  the  females  were  al- 
ready in  helpless  consternation.  With  an  exertion 
of  desperate  strength,  he  forced  the  wicket  from 
its  hinges,  and  rushed  into  the  house. 

He  found  himself  in  a small  vaulted  hall,  and 
by  the  light  of  the  moon  which  entered  at  the 
door,  he  saw  a staircase  to  the  left.  He  hurried 
up  it  to  a narrow  corridor,  through  which  was 
rolling  a volume  of  smoke.  He  found  here  the 
two  females  in  a frantic  state  of  alarm  ; one  of 
them  clasped  her  hands,  and  implored  him  to  save 
her  father. 

The  corridor  terminated  in  a spiral  flight  of 
steps,  leading  up  to  the  tower.  He  sprang  up  it 
to  a small  door,  through  the  chinks  of  which  came 
a glow  of  light,  and  smoke  was  spuming  out.  He 
burst  it  open,  and  found  himself  in  an  antique 
vaulted  chamber,  furnished  with  furnace,  and  va- 
rious chemical  apparatus.  A shattered  retort  lay 
mi  the  stone  floor;  a quantity  of  combustibles 


192 


BRACEBRIDGE  IIALL. 


nearly  consumed,  with  various  half-burnt  books 
and  papers,  were  sending  up  an  expiring  flame, 
and  filling  the  chamber  with  stifling  smoke.  Just 
within  the  threshold  lay  the  reputed  conjurer. 
He  was  bleeding,  his  clothes  were  scorched,  and 
he  appeared  lifeless.  Antonio  caught  him  up, 
and  bore  him  down  the  stairs  to  a chamber  in 
which  there  was  a light,  and  laid  him  on  a bed. 
The  female  domestic  was  dispatched  for  such  ap- 
pliances as  the  house  afforded  ; but  the  daughter 
threw  herself  frantically  beside  her  parent,  and 
could  not  be  reasoned  out  of  her  alarm.  Her 
dress  \was  all  in  disorder  ; her  dishevelled  hair 
hung  in  rich  confusion  about  her  neck  and  bosom, 
and  never  was  there  beheld  a lovelier  picture  of 
terror  and  affliction. 

The  skilful  assiduities  of  the  scholar  soon  pro- 
duced signs  of  returning  animation  in  his  patient. 
The  old  man’s  wounds,  though  severe,  were  not 
dangerous.  They  had  evidently  been  produced 
by  the  bursting  of  the  retort ; in  his  bewilder- 
ment he  had  been  enveloped  in  the  stifling  metal- 
lic vapors  which  had  overpowered  his  feeble 
frame,  and  had  not  Antonio  arrived  to  his  assist- 
ance, it  is  possible  he  might  never  have  recov- 
ered. 

By  slow  degrees  he  came  to  his  senses.  He 
looked  about  with  a bewildered  air  at  the  cham- 
ber, the  agitated  group  around,  and  the  student 
who  was  leaning  over  him. 

u Where  am  I ? ” said  he,  wildly. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  his  daughter  uttered 
a faint  exclamation  of  delight.  “ My  poor  Inez  ! ” 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 193 


said  lie,  embracing  her  ; then  putting  his  hand  to 
his  head,  and  taking  it  away  stained  with  blood, 
he  seemed  suddenly  to  recollect  himself,  and  to  be 
overcome  with  emotion. 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  he,  “ all  is  over  with  me  ! all 
gone  ! all  vanished  ! gone  in  a moment ! the  labor 
of  a lifetime  lost ! ” 

His  daughter  attempted  to  soothe  him,  but  he 
became  slightly  delirious,  and  raved  incoherently 
about  malignant  demons,  and  about  the  habitation 
of  the  green  lion  being  destroyed.  His  wounds 
being  dressed,  and  such  other  remedies  adminis- 
tered as  his  situation  required,  he  sunk  into  a 
state  of  quiet.  Antonio  now  turned  his  attention 
to  the  daughter,  whose  sufferings  had  been  little 
inferior  to  those  of  her  father.  Having  with 
great  difficulty  succeeded  in  tranquillizing  her 
fears,  he  endeavored  to  prevail  upon  her  to  retire, 
and  seek  the  repose  so  necessary  to  her  frame, 
proffering  to  remain  by  her  father  until  morning. 
“ I am  a stranger,”  said  he,  “it  is  true,  and  my  of- 
fer may  appear  intrusive  ; but  I see  you  are  lonely 
and  helpless,  and  I cannot  help  venturing  over 
the  limits  of  mere  ceremony.  Should  you  feel  any 
scruple  or  doubt,  however,  say  but  a word,  and  I 
will  instantly  retire.” 

There  was  a frankness,  a kindness,  and  a mod- 
esty mingled  in  Antonio’s  deportment,  which  in-, 
spired  instant  confidence ; and  his  simple  schol- 
ar’s garb  was  a recommendation  in  the  house  of 
poverty.  The  females  consented  to  resign  the  suf- 
ferer to  his  care,  as  they  would  be  the  better  able 
to  attend  to  him  on  the  morrow.  On  retiring,  the 
13 


194 


BRACEBR1DGE  BALL. 


old  domestic  was  profuse  in  her  benedictions  ; the 
daughter  only  looked  her  thanks ; but  as  they 
shone  through  the  tears  that  filled  her  fine  black 
eyes,  the  student  thought  them  a thousand  times 
the  most  eloquent. 

Here,  then,  he  was,  by  a singular  turn  of 
chance,  completely  housed  within  this  mysterious 
mansion.  When  left  to  himself,  and  the  bustle 
of  the  scene  was  over,  his  heart  throbbed  as  he 
looked  round  the  chamber  in  which  he  was  sitting. 
It  was  the  daughter’s  room,  the  promised  land 
toward  which  he  had  cast  so  many  a longing 
gaze.  The  furniture  was  old,  and  had  probably 
belonged  to  the  building  in  its  prosperous  days  ; 
but  everything  was  arranged  with  propriety. 
The  flowers  which  he  had  seen  her  attend  stood 
in  the  window  ; a guitar  leaned  against  a table, 
on  which  stood  a crucifix,  and  before  it  lay  a 
missal  and  a rosary.  There  reigned  an  air  of 
purity  and  serenity  about  this  little  nestling-place 
of  innocence ; it  was  the  emblem  of  a chaste  and 
quiet  mind.  Some  few  articles  of  female  dress 
lay  on  the  chairs ; and  there  was  the  very  bed 
on  which  she  had  slept ; the  pillow  on  which  her 
soft  cheek  had  reclined ! The  poor  scholar  was 
treading  enchanted  ground ; for  what  fairy  land 
has  more  magic  in  it  \han  the  bedchamber  of  in- 
nocence and  beauty  ? 

From  various  expressions  of  the  old  man  in 
his  ravings,  and  from  what  he  had  noticed  on  a 
subsequent  visit  to  the  tower,  to  see  that  the  fire 
was  extinguished,  Antonio  had  gathered  that  his 
patient  was  an  alchemist.  The  philosopher’s 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  195 


stone  was  an  object  eagerly  sought  after  by  vis- 
ionaries in  those  days  ; but  in  consequence  of 
the  superstitious  prejudices  of  the  times,  and 
the  frequent  persecutions  of  its  votaries,  they 
were  apt  to  pursue  their  experiments  in  secret 
in  lonely  houses,  in  caverns  and  ruins,  or  in  the 
privacy  of  cloistered  cells. 

In  the  course  of  the  night  the  old  man  had 
several  fits  of  restlessness  and  delirium  ; he  would 
call  out  upon  Theophrastus,  and  Geber,  and  Al- 
bertus  Magnus,  and  other  sages  of  his  art ; and 
anon  would  murmur  about  fermentation  and  pro- 
jection, until,  toward  daylight,  he  once  more  sunk 
into  a salutary  sleep.  When  the  morning  sun 
darted  his  rays  into  the  casement,  the  fair  Inez, 
attended  by  the  female  domestic,  came  blushing 
into  the  chamber.  The  student  now  took  his 
leave,  having  himself  need  of  repose,  but  obtained 
ready  permission  to  return  and  inquire  after  the 
sufferer. 

When  he  called  again,  he  found  the  alchemist 
languid  and  in  pain,  but  apparently  suffering 
more  in  mind  than  in  body.  His  delirium  had 
left  him,  and  he  had  been  informed  of  the  partic- 
ulars of  his  deliverance  and  of  the  subsequent 
attentions  of  the  scholar.  He  could  do  little 
more  than  look  his  thanks,  but  Antonio  did  not 
require  them  ; his  own  heart  repaid  him  for  all 
that  he  had  done,  and  he  almost  rejoiced  in  the 
disaster  that  had  gained  him  an  entrance  into  this 
mysterious  habitation.  The  alchemist  was  so 
helpless  as  to  need  much  assistance  ; Antonio  re- 
mained with  him,  therefore,  the  greater  part  of 


196 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


the  day.  He  repeated  his  visit  the  next  day,  and 
the  next.  Every  day  his  company  seemed  more 
pleasing  to  the  invalid  ; and  every  day  he  felt 
his  interest  in  the  latter  increasing.  Perhaps  the 
nresence  of  the  daughter  might  have  been  at  the 
bottom  of  this  solicitude. 

He  had  frequent  and  long  conversations  with 
die  alchemist.  He  found  him,  as  men  of  his  pur- 
suits were  apt  to  be,  a mixture  of  enthusiasm  and 
simplicity  ; of  curious  and  extensive  reading  on 
points  of  little  utility,  with  great  inattention  to 
the  every-day  occurrences  of  life,  and  profound 
ignorance  of  the  world.  He  was  deeply  versed 
in  singular  and  obscure  branches  of  knowledge, 
and  much  given  to  visionary  speculations.  An- 
tonio, whose  mind  was  of  a romantic  cast,  had 
himself  given  some  attention  to  the  occult  sci- 
ences, and  he  entered  upon  these  themes  with  an 
ardor  that  delighted  the  philosopher.  Their  con- 
versations frequently  turned  upon  astrology,  div- 
ination, and  the  great  secret.  The  old  man 
would  forget  his  aches  and  wounds,  rise  up  like  a 
spectre  in  his  bed,  and  kindle  into  eloquence  on 
his  favorite  topics.  When  gently  admonished  of 
his  situation,  it  would  but  prompt  him  to  another 
sally  of  thought. 

“ Alas,  my  son ! ” he  would  say,  “ is  not  this 
very  decrepitude  and  suffering  another  proof  of 
the  importance  of  those  secrets  with  which  we 
are  surrounded?  Why  are  we  trammelled  by 
disease,  withered  by  old  age,  and  our  spirits 
quenched,  as  it  were,  within  us,  but  because  we 
have  lost  those  secrets  of  life  and  youth  which 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  197 


were  known  to  our  parents  before  their  fall  ? 
To  regain  these  have  philosophers  been  ever 
since  aspiring  ; but  just  as  they  are  on  the  point 
of  securing  the  precious  secrets  forever,  the  brief 
period  of  life  is  at  an  end  ; they  die,  and  with 
them  all  their  wisdom  and  experience.  6 Noth- 
ing/ as  De  Nuysment  observes,  — 6 nothing  is 
wanting  for  man’s  perfection  but  a longer  life,  less 
crossed  with  sorrows  and  maladies,  to  the  attain- 
ing of  the  full  and  perfect  knowledge  of  things.’  ” 

At  length  Antonio  so  far  gained  on  the  heart 
of  his  patient  as  to  draw  from  him  the  outlines 
of  his  story. 

Felix  de  Vasques,  the  alchemist,  was  a native 
of  Castile,  and  of  an  ancient  and  honorable  line. 
Early  in  life  he  had  married  a beautiful  female, 
a descendant  from  one  of  the  Moorish  families. 
The  marriage  displeased  his  father,  who  consid- 
ered the  pure  Spanish  blood  contaminated  by  this 
foreign  mixture.  It  is  true,  the  lady  traced  her 
descent  from  one  of  the  Abencerrages,  the  most 
gallant  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  who  had  embraced 
the  Christian  faith  on  being  exiled  from  the  walls 
of  Grenada.  The  injured  pride  of  the  father, 
however,  was  not  to  be  appeased.  He  never  saw 
his  son  afterwards;  and  on  dying  left  him  but  a 
scanty  portion  of  his  estate  ; bequeathing  the  resi- 
due, in  the  piety  and  bitterness  of  his  heart,  to 
the  erection  of  convents,  and  the  performance  of 
masses  for  souls  in  purgatory.  Don  Felix  re- 
sided for  a long  time  in  the  neighborhood  of  Val- 
iadolid, in  a state  of  embarrassment  and  obscurity 
He  devoted  himself  to  intense  study,  having, 


198 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  IT ALL. 


while  at  the  university  of  Salamanca,  imbibed  a 
taste  for  the  secret  sciences.  He  was  enthusias- 
tic and  speculative  ; he  went  on  from  one  branch 
of  knowledge  to  another,  until  he  became  zealous 
in  the  search  after  the  grand  Arcanum. 

He  had  at  first  engaged  in  the  pursuit  with  the 
hopes  of  raising  himself  from  his  present  obscu- 
rity, and  resuming  the  rank  and  dignity  to  which 
his  birth  entitled  him ; but,  as  usual,  it  ended  in 
absorbing  every  thought,  and  becoming  the  busi- 
ness of  his  existence.  He  was  at  length  aroused 
from  this  mental  abstraction  by  the  calamities  of 
his  household.  A malignant  fever  swept  off  his 
wife  and  all  his  children,  excepting  an  infant 
daughter.  These  losses  for  a time  overwhelmed 
and  stupefied  him.  His  home  had  in  a manner 
died  away  from  around  him,  and  he  felt  lonely 
and  forlorn.  When  his  spirit  revived  within  him, 
he  determined  to  abandon  the  scene  of  his  humil- 
iation and  disaster ; to  bear  away  the  child  that 
was  still  left  him,  beyond  the  scene  of  contagion, 
and  never  to  return  to  Castile  until  he  should  be 
enabled  to  reclaim  the  honors  of  his  line. 

He  had  ever  since  been  wandering  and  unset- 
tled in  his  abode.  Sometimes  the  resident  of 
populous  cities,  at  other  times  of  absolute  soli- 
tudes. He  had  searched  libraries,  meditated  on 
inscriptions,  visited  adepts  of  different  countries, 
and  sought  to  gather  and  concentrate  the  rays 
which  had  been  thrown  by  various  minds  upon 
the  secrets  of  alchemy.  He  had  at  one  time 
travelled  quite  to  Padua  to  search  for  the  manu- 
scripts of  Pietro  d’ Abano,  and  to  inspect  an  urn 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  199 


which  had  been  dug  up  near  Este,  supposed  to 
have  been  buried  by  Maximus  Olybius,  and  to 
have  contained  the  grand  elixir.* 

While  at  Padua  he  met  with  an  adept  versed 
in  Arabian  lore,  who  talked  of  the  invaluable 
manuscripts  that  must  remain  in  the  Spanish 
libraries,  preserved  from  the  spoils  of  the  Moorish 
academies  and  universities  ; of  the  probability  of 
meeting  with  precious  unpublished  writings  of 
Geber,  and  Alfarabius,  and  Avicenna,  the  great 
physicians  of  the  Arabian  schools,  who,  it  was 
well  known,  had  treated  much  of  alchemy  ; but, 
above  all,  he  spoke  of  the  Arabian  tablets  of  lead 
which  had  recently  been  dug  up  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of ‘Grenada,  and  which,  it  was  confidently 
believed  among  adepts,  contained  the  lost  secrets 
of  the  art. 

The  indefatigable  alchemist  once  more  bent  his 
steps  for  Spain,  full  of  renovated  hope.  He  had 
made  his  way  to  Grenada  ; he  had  wearied  him- 
self in  the  study  of  Arabic,  in  deciphering  in- 

* This  urn  was  found  in  1533.  It  contained  a lesser  one, 
in  which  was  a burning  lamp  betwixt  two  small  vials,  the 
one  of  gold,  the  other  of  silver,  both  of  them  full  of  a very 
clear  liquor.  On  the  largest  was  an  inscription  stating  that 
Maximus  Olybius  shut  up  in  this  small  vessel  elements  which 
he  had  prepared  with  great  toil.  There  were  many  disquisi- 
tions among  the  learned  on  the  subject.  It  was  the  most 
received  opinion  that  this  Maximus  Olybius  was  an  inhab- 
itant of  Padua ; that  he  had  discovered  the  great  secret,  and 
that  these  vessels  contained  liquor,  one  to  transmute  metals 
to  gold,  the  other  to  silver.  The  peasants  who  found  the 
urns,  imagining  this  precious  liquor  to  be  common  water,  spilt 
e\  ery  drop,  so  that  the  art  of  transmuting  metals  remam/5  as 
ti '^ch  a secret  as  ever. 


200 


BRA  CEB  it  ID  GE  HALL. 


scriptions,  in  rummaging  libraries,  and  exploring 
every  possible  trace  left  by  the  Arabian  sages. 

In  all  his  wanderings  he  had  been  accompanied 
by  Inez ; through  the  rough  and  the  smooth,  the 
pleasant  and  the  adverse ; never  complaining,  but 
rather  seeking  to  soothe  his  cares  by  her  innocent 
and  playful  caresses.  Her  instruction  had  been 
the  employment  and  the  delight  of  his  hours  of 
relaxation.  She  had  grown  up  while  they  were 
wandering,  and  had  scarcely  ever  known  any 
home  but  by  his  side.  He  was  family,  friends, 
home,  everything  to  her.  He  had  carried  her  in 
his  arms  when  they  first  began  their  wayfaring  ; 
had  nestled  her,  as  an  eagle  does  its  young,  among 
the  rocky  heights  of  the  Sierra  Morena  ; she  had 
sported  about  him  in  childhood  in  the  solitudes 
of  the  Bateucas ; had  followed  him,  as  a lamb 
does  the  shepherd,  over  the  rugged  Pyrenees,  and 
into  the  fair  plains  of  Languedoc ; and  now  she 
was  grown  up  to  support  his  feeble  steps  among 
the  ruined  abodes  of  her  materual  ancestors. 

His  property  had  gradually  wasted  away  in  the 
course  of  his  travels  and  his  experiments.  Still 
hope,  the  constant  attendant  of  the  alchemist,  had 
led  him  on ; ever  on  the  point  of  reaping  the  re- 
ward of  his  labors,  and  ever  disappointed.  With 
the  credulity  that  often  attended  his  art,  he  attrib- 
uted many  of  his  disappointments  to  the  machi- 
nations of  the  malignant  spirits  which  beset  the 
path  of  the  alchemist,  and  torment  him  in  his 
solitary  labors.  £‘  It  is  their  constant  endeavor,1 ” 
he  observed,  “ to  close  up  every  avenue  to  those 
sublime  truths  which  would  enable  man  to  rise 


TllE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  201 

above  the  abject  state  into  which  he  has  fallen, 
and  to  return  to  his  original  perfection.”  To  the 
evil  offices  of  these  demons  he  attributed  his  late 
disaster.  He  had  been  on  the  very  verge  of  the 
glorious  discovery ; never  were  the  indications 
more  completely  auspicious ; all  was  going  on 
prosperously,  when,  at  the  critical  moment  which 
should  have  crowned  his  labors  with  success,  and 
have  placed  him  at  the  very  summit  of  human 
power  and  felicity,  the  bursting  of  a retort  had 
reduced  his  laboratory  and  himself  to  ruins. 

“ I must  now,”  said  he,  “ give  up  at  the  very 
threshold  of  success.  My  books  and  papers  are 
burnt ; my  apparatus  is  broken.  I am  too  old 
to  bear  up  against  these  evils.  The  ardor  that 
once  inspired  me  is  gone  ; my  poor  frame  is  ex- 
hausted by  study  and  watchfulness,  and  this  last 
misfortune  has  hurried  me  towards  the  grave.” 
He  concluded  in  a tone  of  deep  dejection.  An- 
tonio endeavored  to  comfort  and  reassure  him ; 
but  the  poor  alchemist  had  for  once  awakened  to 
a consciousness  of  the  worldly  ills  gathering 
around  him,  and  had  sunk  into  despondency. 
After  a pause,  and  some  thoughtfulness  and  per- 
plexity of  brow,  Antonio  ventured  to  make  a 
proposal. 

“ I have  long,”  said  he,  “ been  filled  with  a love 
for  the  secret  sciences,  but  have  felt  too  ignorant 
and  diffident  to  give  myself  up  to  them.  You 
have  acquired  experience ; you  have  amassed  the 
knowledge  of  a lifetime  ; it  were  a pity  it  should 
be  thrown  away.  You  say  you  are  too  old  to 
lenew  the  toils  of  the  laboratory;  suffer  me  w 


202 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


undertake  them.  Add  your  knowledge  to  my 
youtli  and  activity,  and  what  shall  we  not  accom- 
plish ? As  a probationary  fee,  and  a fund  on 
which  to  proceed,  I will  bring  into  the  common 
stock  a sum  of  gold,  the  residue  of  a legacy, 
which  has  enabled  me  to  complete  my  education. 
A poor  scholar  cannot  boast  much ; but  I trust 
we  shall  soon  put  ourselves  beyond  the  reach  cfi 
want ; and  if  we  should  fail,  why,  I must  depend, 
like  other  scholars,  upon  my  brains  to  carry  me 
through  the  world.” 

The  philosopher’s  spirits,  however,  were  more 
depressed  than  the  student  had  imagined.  This 
last  shock,  following  in  the  rear  of  so  many  dis- 
appointments, had  almost  destroyed  the  reaction 
of  his  mind.  The  fire  of  an  enthusiast,  however, 
is  never  so  low,  but  that  it  may  be  blown  again 
into  a flame.  By  degrees  the  old  man  was 
cheered  and  reanimated  by  the  buoyancy  and  ar- 
dor of  his  sanguine  companion.  He  at  length 
agreed  to  accept  of  the  services  of  the  student, 
and  once  more  to  renew  his  experiments.  He 
objected,  however,  to  using  the  student’s  gold, 
notwithstanding  his  own  was  nearly  exhausted  ; 
but  this  objection  was  soon  overcome ; the  student 
insisted  on  making  it  a common  stock  and  com- 
mon cause  ; — and  then  how  absurd  was  any  del- 
icacy about  such  a trifle,  with  men  who  looked 
forward  to  discovering  the  philosopher’s  stone  ! 

While,  therefore,  the  alchemist  was  slowly  re- 
covering, the  student  busied  himself  in  getting 
the  laboratory  once  more  in  order.  It  was 
strewed  with  the  wrecks  of  retorts  and  alembics, 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 203 


with  old  crucibles,  boxes  and  phials  of  powders 
and  tinctures,  and  half-burnt  books  and  manu- 
scripts. 

As  soon  as  the  old  man  was  sufficiently  re- 
covered, the  studies  and  experiments  were  re- 
newed. The  student  became  a privileged  and 
frequent  visitor,  and  was  indefatigable  in  his  toils 
in  the  laboratory.  The  philosopher  daily  de- 
rived new  zeal  and  spirits  from  the  animation  of 
his  disciple.  '-He  was  now  enabled  to  prosecute 
the  enterprise  with  continued  exertion,  having  so 
active  a coadjutor  to  divide  the  toil.  While  he 
was  poring  over  the  writings  of  Sandivogius, 
and  Philalethes,  and  Dominus  de  Nuysment,  and 
endeavoring  to  comprehend  the  symbolical  lan- 
guage in  which  they  have  locked  up  their  myste- 
ries, Antonio  would  occupy  himself  among  the  re- 
torts and  crucibles,  and  keep  the  furnace  in  a per- 
petual glow. 

With  all  his  zeal,  however,  for  the  discovery  of 
the  golden  art,  the  feelings  of  the  student  had 
not  cooled  as  to  the  object  that  first  drew  him  to 
this  ruinous  mansion.  During  the  old  man’s  ill- 
ness, he  had  frequent  opportunities  of  being  near 
the  daughter ; and  every  day  made  him  more 
sensible  to  her  charms.  There  was  a pure  sim- 
plicity, and  an  almost  passive  gentleness  in  her 
manners  ; yet  with  all  this  was  mingled  some- 
thing, whether  mere  maiden  shyness,  or  a con- 
sciousness of  high  descent,  or  a dash  of  Castilian 
pride,  or  perhaps  all  united,  that  prevented  undue 
familiarity,  and  made  her  difficult  of  approach. 
The  danger  of  her  father.,  and  the  measures  to  be 


204 


LRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


taken  for  his  relief,  had  at  first  overcome  this 
coyness  and  reserve  ; but  as  he  recovered  and 
her  alarm  subsided,  she  seemed  to  shrink  from 
the  familiarity  she  had  indulged  with  the  youth- 
ful stranger,  and  to  become  every  day  more  shy 
and  silent. 

Antonio  had  read  many  books,  but  this  was 
the  first  volume  of  womankind  that  he  had  ever 
studied.  He  had  been  captivated  with  the  very 
title-page ; but  the  further  he  read  the  more  he 
was  delighted.  She  seemed  formed  to  love ; her 
soft  black  eye  rolled  languidly  under  its  long 
silken  lashes,  and  wherever  it  turned,  it  would 
linger  and  repose  ; there  was  tenderness  in  every 
beam.  To  him  alone  she  was  reserved  and  dis- 
tant. Now  that  the  common  cares  of  the  sick- 
room were  at  an  end,  he  saw  little  more  of  her 
than  before  his  admission  to  the  house.  Some- 
times he  met  her  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  lab- 
oratory, and  at  such  times  there  was  ever  a smile 
and  a blush ; but,  after  a simple  salutation,  she 
glided  on  and  disappeared. 

“ ’T  is  plain,”  thought  Antonio,  “ my  presence 
is  indifferent,  if  not  irksome  to  her.  She  has 
noticed  my  admiration,  and  is  determined  to  dis- 
courage it;  nothing  but  a feeling  of  gratitude 
prevents  her  treating  me  with  marked  distaste  ; — * 
and  then  has  she  not  another  lover,  rich,  gallant, 
splendid,  musical  ? how  can  I suppose  she  would 
turn  her  eyes  from  so  brilliant  a cavalier  to  a 
poor  obscure  student,  raking  among  the  cinders 
of  her  father’s  laboratory  ? ” 

Indeed,  the  idea  of  the  amorous  serenader  con* 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 


205 


tinually  haunted  his  mind.  He  felt  convinced 
that  he  was  a favored  lover  ; yet,  if  so,  why  did 
he  not  frequent  the  tower  ? Why  did  he  not  make 
his  approaches  by  noonday  ? There  was  mys- 
tery in  this  eavesdropping  and  musical  courtship. 
Surely  Inez  could  not  be  encouraging  a secret 
intrigue  ! Oh,  no  ! she  was  too  artless,  too  pure, 
too  ingenuous  ! But  then  the  Spanish  females 
were  so  prone  to  love  and  intrigue  ; and  music 
and  moonlight  were  so  seductive,  and  Inez  had 
such  a tender  soul  languishing  in  every  look. 
“ Oh ! ” would  the  poor  scholar  exclaim,  clasping 
his  hands,  — “ oh  that  I could  but  once  behold 
those  loving  eyes  beaming  on  me  with  affection ! ” 

It  is  incredible  to  those  who  have  not  experi- 
enced it,  on  what  scanty  aliment  human  life  and 
human  love  may  be  supported.  A dry  crust, 
thrown  now  and  then  to  a starving  man,  will 
give  him  a new  lease  of  existence ; and  a faint 
smile,  or  a kind  look,  bestowed  at  casual  inter- 
vals, will  keep  a lover  loving  on,  when  a man  in 
his  sober  senses  would  despair. 

When  Antonio  found  himself  alone  in  the  lab- 
oratory, his  mind  would  be  haunted  by  one  of 
these  looks,  or  smiles,  which  he  had  received  in 
passing.  He  would  set  it  in  every  possible  light, 
and  argue  on  it  with  all  the  self-pleasing,  self- 
teasing logic  of  a lover. 

The  country  around  was  enough  to  awaken 
that  voluptuousness  of  feeling  so  favorable  to  the 
growth  of  passion.  The  windows  of  the  towe^ 
rose  above  the  trees  of  the  romantic  valley  of 
the  Darro,  and  looked  down  upon  some  of  the 


206 


BRA  CKBRIDQE  HALL. 


loveliest  scenery  of  the  Vega,  where  groves  of 
r,#lron  and  orange  were  refreshed  by  cool  springs 
and  brooks  of  the  purest  water.  The  Xenel  and 
the  Darro  wound  their  shining  streams  along 
the  plain,  and  gleamed  from  among  its  bowers. 
The  surrounding  hills  were  covered  with  vine- 
yards, and  the  mountains,  crowned  with  snow, 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  blue  sky.  The  delicate 
airs  that  played  about  the  tower  were  perfumed 
by  the  fragrance  of  myrtle  and  orange  blossoms, 
and  the  ear  was  charmed  with  the  fond  warbling 
of  the  nightingale,  which,  in  these  happy  regions, 
sings  the  whole  day  long.  Sometimes,  too,  there 
was  the  idle  song  of  the  muleteer,  sauntering 
along  the  solitary  road,  or  the  notes  of  the  gui- 
tar from  some  group  of  peasants  dancing  in  the 
shade.  All  these  were  enough  to  fill  the  head 
of  a young  lover  with  poetic  fancies ; and 
Antonio  would  picture  to  himself  how  he  could 
loiter  among  those  happy  groves,  and  wander  by 
those  gentle  rivers,  and  love  away  his  life  with 
Inez. 

He  felt  at  times  impatient  at  his  own  weakness, 
and  would  endeavor  to  brush  away  these  cobwebs 
of  the  mind.  He  would  turn  his  thought,  with 
sudden  effort,  to  his  occult  studies,  or  occupy  him- 
self in  some  perplexing  process ; but  often,  when 
he  had  partially  succeeded  in  fixing  his  attention, 
the  sound  of  Inez’s  lute,  or  the  soft  notes  of  her 
voice,  would  come  * stealing  upon  the  stillness  of 
the  chamber,  and,  as  it  were,  floating  round  the 
tower.  There  was  no  great  art  in  her  per- 
formance ; but  Antonio  thought  he  had  never 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  207 


heard  music  comparable  to  this.  It  was  perfect 
witchcraft  to  hear  her  warble  forth  some  ot  lier 
national  melodies ; those  little  Spanish  romances 
and  Moorish  ballads  which  transport  the  hearer, 
in  idea,  to  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquiver,  or  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra,  and  make  him  dream  of 
beauties,  and  balconies,  and  moonlight  serenades. 

Never  was  poor  student  more  sadly  beset  than 
Antonio.  Love  is  a troublesome  companion  in  a 
study  at  the  best  of  times ; but  in  the  laboratory 
of  an  alchemist  his  intrusion  is  terribly  disas- 
trous. Instead  of  attending  to  the  retorts  and 
crucibles,  and  watching  the  process  of  some  ex- 
periment intrusted  to  his  charge,  the  student 
would  get  entranced  in  one  of  these  love-dreams, 
from  which  he  would  often  be  aroused  by  some 
fatal  catastrophe.  The  philosopher,  on  returning 
from  his  researches  in  the  libraries,  would  find 
everything  gone  wrong,  and  Antonio  in  despair 
over  the  ruins  of  the  whole  day’s  work.  The 
old  man,  however,  took  all  quietly,  for  his  had 
been  a life  of  experiment  and  failure. 

“We  must  have  patience,  my  son,”  would  he 
say,  u as  all  the  great  masters  that  have  gone  be- 
fore us  have  had.  Errors,  and  accidents,  and  de- 
lays, are  what  we  have  to  contend  with.  Did 
not  Pontanus  err  two  hundred  times  before  he 
could  obtain  even  the  matter  on  which  to  found 
his  experiments  ? The  great  Flamel,  too,  did  he 
not  labor  four-and-twenty  years,  before  he  ascer- 
tained the  first  agent  ? What  difficulties  and 
hardships  did  not  Cartilaceus  encounter,  at  the 
very  threshold  of  his  discoveries  ? And  Bernard 


208 


BRACEBRJDGE  HALL. 


de  Treves,  even  after  he  had  attained  a knowl- 
edge of  all  the  requisites,  was  he  not  delayed  full 
three  years  ? What  you  consider  accidents,  my 
son,  are  the  machinations  of  our  invisible  ene- 
mies. The  treasures  and  golden  secrets  of  nature 
are  surrounded  by  spirits  hostile  to  man.  The 
air  about  us  teems  with  them.  They  lurk  in  the 
fire  of  the  furnace,  in  the  bottom  of  the  crucible 
and  the  alembic,  and  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  take 
advantage  of  those  moments  when  our  minds  are 
wandering  from  intense  meditation  on  the  great 
truth  that  we  are  seeking.  We  must  only  strive 
the  more  to  purify  ourselves  from  those  gross  and 
earthly  feelings  which  becloud  the  soul,  and  pre- 
vent her  from  piercing  into  nature’s  arcana.” 

44  Alas  ! ” thought  Antonio,  44  if  to  be  purified 
from  all  earthly  feeling  requires  that  I should 
cease  to  love  Inez,  I fear  I shall  never  discover 
the  philosopher’s  stone  ! ” 

In  this  way  matters  went  on  for  some  time  at 
the  alchemist’s.  Day  after  day  was  sending  the 
student’s  gold  in  vapor  up  the  chimney  ; every 
blast  of  the  furnace  made  him  a ducat  the  poorer, 
without  apparently  helping  him  a jot  nearer  to 
the  golden  secret.  Still  the  young  man  stood  by, 
and  saw  piece  after  piece  disappearing  without  a 
murmur:  he  had  daily  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
Inez,  and  felt  as  if  her  favor  would  be  better 
than  silver  or  gold,  and  that  every  smile  was 
worth  a ducat. 

Sometimes,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when 
the  toils  of  the  laboratory  happened  to  be  sus- 
pended, he  would  walk  with  the  alchemist  in 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  209 


what  had  once  been  a garden  belonging  to  the 
mansion.  There  were  still  the  remains  of  ter- 
races and  balustrades,  and  here  and  there  a mar- 
ble urn,  or  mutilated  statue  overturned,  and  bur- 
ied among  weeds  and  flowers  run  wild.  It  was 
the  favorite  resort  of  the  alchemist  in  his  hours 
of  relaxation,  where  he  would  give  full  scope  to 
liis  visionary  flights.  His  mind  was  tinctured 
with  the  Rosicrucian  doctrines.  He  believed  in 
elementary  beings ; some  favorable,  others  ad- 
verse to  his  pursuits  ; and  in  the  exaltation  of  his 
fancy,  had  often  imagined  that  he  held  commun- 
ion with  them  in  his  solitary  walks  about  the 
whispering  groves  and  echoing  walls  of  this  old 
garden. 

When  accompanied  by  Antonio,  he  would  pro- 
long these  evening  recreations.  Indeed,  he  some- 
times did  it  out  of  consideration  for  his  disciple, 
for  he  feared  lest  his  too  close  application,  and 
his  incessant  seclusion  in  the  tower,  should  be  in- 
jurious to  his  health.  He  was  delighted  and  sur- 
prised by  this  extraordinary  zeal  and  persever- 
ance in  so  young  a tyro,  and  looked  upon  him  as 
destined  to  be  one  of  the  great  luminaries  of  the 
art.  Lest  the  student  should  repine  at  the  time 
lost  in  these  relaxations,  the  good  alchemist  would 
fill  them  up  with  wholesome  knowledge,  in  mat- 
ters connected  with  their  pursuits ; and  would 
walk  up  and  down  the  alleys  with  his  disciple, 
imparting  oral  instruction  like  an  ancient  philoso- 
pher. In  all  his  visionary  schemes  there  breathed 
a spirit  of  lofty,  though  chimerical  philanthropy, 
that  won  the  admiration  of  the  scholar.  Noth- 
14 


210 


BllACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


ing  sordid,  nor  sensual ; nothing  petty  nor  selfish 
seemed  to  enter  into  his  views,  in  respect  to  the 
grand  discoveries  he  was  anticipating.  On  the 
contrary,  his  imagination  kindled  with  concep- 
tions of  widely  dispensated  happiness.  He  looked 
forward  to  the  time  when  he  should  be  able  to  go 
about  the  earth  relieving  the  indigent,  comforting 
the  distressed ; and,  by  his  unlimited  means,  de*> 
vising  and  executing  plans  for  the  complete  extir- 
pation of  poverty,  and  all  its  attendant  sufferings 
and  crimes.  Never  were  grander  schemes  for 
general  good,  for  the  distribution  of  boundless 
wealth  and  universal  competence,  devised,  than  by 
this  poor,  indigent  alchemist  in  his  ruined  tower. 

Antonio  would  attend  these  peripatetic  lectures 
with  all  the  ardor  of  a devotee ; but  there  was 
another  circumstance  which  may  have  given  a 
secret  charm  to  them.  The  garden  was  the  re- 
sort also  of  Inez,  where  she  took  her  walks  of 
recreation,  the  only  exercise  her  secluded  life 
permitted.  As  Antonio  was  duteously  pacing  by 
the  side  of  his  instructor,  he  would  often  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  daughter,  walking  pensively  about 
the  alleys  in  the  soft  twilight.  Sometimes  they 
would  meet  her  unexpectedly,  and  the  heart  of 
the  student  would  throb  with  agitation.  A blush, 
too,  would  crimson  the  cheek  of  Inez,  but  still  she 
passed  on,  and  never  joined  them. 

He  had  remained  one  evening,  until  rather  a 
late  hour,  with  the  alchemist  in  this  favorite  re- 
sort. It  was  a delightful  night  after  a sultry  day, 
and  the  balmy  air  of  the  garden  was  peculiarly 
reviving  The  old  man  was  seated  on  a fragment 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  211 


of  a pedestal,  looking  like  a part  of  the  ruin  on 
which  he  sat.  He  was  edifying  his  pupil  by  long 
lessons  of  wisdom  from  the  stars,  as  they  shone 
out  with  brilliant  lustre  in  the  dark-blue  vault  of 
a southern  sky;  for  he  was  deeply  versed  in  Bell- 
men, and  other  of  the  Rosicrucians,  and  talked 
much  of  the  signature  of  earthly  things,  and  pass- 
ing events,  which  may  be  discerned  in  the  heav- 
ens ; of  the  power  of  the  stars  over  corporeal  be- 
ings, and  their  influence  on  the  fortunes  of  the 
sons  of  men. 

By  degrees  the  moon  rose  and  shed  her  gleam- 
ing light  among  the  groves.  Antonio  apparently 
listened  with  fixed  attention  to  the  sage,  but  his 
ear  was  drinking  in  the  melody  of  Inez’s  voice, 
who  was  singing  to  her  lute  in  one  of  the  moon- 
light glades  of  the  garden.  The  old  man  having 
exhausted  his  theme,  sat  gazing  in  silent  reverie 
at  the  heavens.  Antonio  could  not  resist  an  in- 
clination to  steal  a look  at  this  coy  beauty,  who 
was  thus  playing  the  part  of  the  nightingale,  so 
sequestered  and  musical.  Leaving  the  alchemist 
in  his  celestial  reverie,  he  stole  gently  along  one 
of  the  alleys.  The  music  had  ceased,  and  he 
thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  He  came 
to  an  angle  of  a copse  that  had  screened  a kind 
of  green  recess,  ornamented  by  a marble  fountain. 
The  moon  shone  full  upon  the  place,  and  by  its 
light  he  beheld  his  unknown  serenading  rival  at 
the  feet  of  Inez.  He  was  detaining  her  by  the 
hand,  which  he  covered  with  kisses ; but  at  sight 
of  Antonio  he  started  up  and  half  drew  his  sword, 
while  Inez,  disengaged,  fled  back  to  the  house. 


212 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


All  the  jealous  doubts  and  fears  of  Antonio 
were  now  confirmed.  He  did  not  remain  to  en- 
counter the  resentment  of  his  happy  rival  at  be- 
ing thus  interrupted,  but  turned  from  the  place  in 
sudden  wretchedness  of  heart.  That  Inez  should 
love  another  would  have  been  misery  enough  ; 
but  that  she  should  be  capable  of  a dishonorable 
amour,  shocked  him  to  the  soul.  The  idea  of 
deception  in  so  young  and  apparently  artless  a 
being,  brought  with  it  that  sudden  distrust  in  hu- 
man nature,  so  sickening  to  a youthful  and  in- 
genuous mind ; but  when  he  thought  of  the  kind, 
simple  parent  she  was  deceiving,  whose  affections 
all  centred  in  her,  he  felt  for  a moment  a senti- 
ment of  indignation,  and  almost  of  aversion. 

He  found  the  alchemist  still  seated  in  his  vis- 
ionary contemplation  of  the  moon.  “ Come  hith- 
er, my  son,”  said  he,  with  his  usual  enthusiasm, 
“ come,  read  with  me  in  this  vast  volume  of  wis- 
dom, thus  nightly  unfolded  for  our  perusal. 
Wisely  did  the  Chaldean  sages  affirm,  that  the 
heaven  is  as  a mystic  page,  uttering  speech  to 
those  who  can  rightly  understand ; warning  ttem 
of  good  and  evil,  and  instructing  them  in  the  se- 
cret decrees  of  fate.” 

The  student’s  heart  ached  for  his  venerable 
master ; and,  for  a .moment,  he  felt  the  futility  of 
all  his  occult  wisdom.  “ Alas  ! poor  old  man  ! ” 
thought  he,  “ of  what  avails  all  thy  study  ? Lit- 
tle dost  thou  dream,  while  busied  in  airy  specu- 
lations among  the  stars,  what  a treason  against 
thy  happiness  is  going  on  under  thine  eyes,  — as 
it  were,  in  thy  very  bosom  ! — Oh,  Inez  ! Inez  ! 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMaNCA.  213 


where  shall  we  look  for  truth  and  innocence  ; 
where  shall  we  repose  confidence  in  woman,  if 
even  you  can  deceive  ? ” 

It  was  a trite  apostrophe,  such  as  every  lover 
makes  when  he  finds  his  mistress  not  quite  such 
a goddess  as  he  had  painted  her.  With  the  stu- 
dent, however,  it  sprang  from  honest  anguish  of 
heart.  He  returned  to  his  lodgings  in  pitiable 
confusion  of  mind.  He  now  deplored  the  infatua- 
tion which  had  led  him  on  until  his  feelings  were 
so  thoroughly  engaged.  He  resolved  to  abandon 
his  pursuits  at  the  tower,  and  trust  to  absence 
to  dispel  the  fascination  by  which  he  had  been 
spellbound.  He  no  longer  thirsted  after  the  dis- 
covery of  the  grand  elixir : the  dream  of  alchemy 
was  over  ; for  without  Inez,  what  was  the  value 
of  the  philosopher’s  stone  ? 

He  rose,  after  a sleepless  night,  with  the  * de- 
termination of  taking  his  leave  of  the  alchemist, 
and  tearing  himself  from  Grenada.  For  several 
days  did  he  rise  with  the  same  resolution,  and 
every  night  saw  him  come  back  to  his  pillow  to 
repine  at  his  want  of  resolution,  and  to  make 
fresh  determinations  for  the  morrow.  In  the 
meanwhile  he  saw  less  of  Inez  than  ever.  She  no 
longer  walked  in  the  garden,  but  remained  almost 
entirely  in  her  apartment.  When  she  met  him, 
she  blushed  more  than  usual ; and  once  hesitated, 
as  if  she  would  have  spoken  ; but  after  a tern 
porary  embarrassment,  and  still  deeper  blushes, 
she  made  some  casual  observation,  and  retired. 
Antonio  read,  in  this  confusion,  a consciousness  of 
fault,  and  of  that  fault’s  being  discovered.  “ What 


214 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL. 


could  she  have  wished  to  communicate  ? Per- 
haps to  account  for  the  scene  in  the  garden ; — 
but  how  can  she  account  for  it,  or  why  should  she 
account  for  it  to  me  ? What  am  I to  her  ? — or 
rather,  what  is  she  to  me?”  exclaimed  he,  im- 
patiently ; with  a new  resolution  to  break  through 
these  entanglements  of  the  heart,  and  fly  from 
this  enchanted  spot  forever. 

He  was  returning  that  very  night  to  his  lodg- 
ings, full  of  this  excellent  determination,  when, 
in  a shadowy  part  of  the  road,  he  passed  a per- 
son whom  he  recognized,  by  his  height  and  form, 
for  his  rival : he  was  going  in  the  direction  of 
the  tower.  If  any  lingering  doubts  remained, 
here  was  an  opportunity  of  settling  them  com- 
pletely. He  determined  to  follow  this  unknown 
cavalier,  and,  under  favor  of  the  darkness,  observe 
his  movements.  If  he  obtained  access  to  the  tower, 
or  in  any  way  a favorable  reception,  Antonio  felt 
as  if  it  would  be  a relief  to  his  mind,  and  would 
enable  him  to  fix  his  wavering  resolution. 

The  unknown,  as  he  came  near  the  tower,  was 
more  cautious  and  stealthy  in  his  approaches. 
He  was  joined  under  a clump  of  trees  by  another 
person,  and  they  had  much  whispering  together 
A light  was  burning  in  the  chamber  of  Inez,  the 
curtain  was  down,  but  the  casement  was  left 
open,  as  the  night  was  warm.  After  some  time 
the  light  was  extinguished.  A considerable  inter- 
val  elapsed.  The  cavalier  and  his  companion 
remained  under  covert  of  the  trees,  as  if  keeping 
watch.  At  length  they  approached  the  tower 
ivith  silent  and  cautious  steps.  The  cavalier  re- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  215 


reived  a dark  lantern  from  his  companion,  and 
threw  off  his  cloak.  The  other  then  softly 
brought  something  from  the  clump  of  trees, 
which  Antonio  perceived  to  be  a light  ladder : 
he  placed  it  against  the  wall,  and  the  serenader 
gently  ascended.  A sickening  sensation  came 
over  Antonio.  Here  was  indeed  a confirmation 
of*  every  fear.  He  was  about  to  leave  the  place, 
never  to  return,  when  he  heard  a stifled  shriek 
from  Inez’s  chamber. 

In  an  instant  the  fellow  that  stood  at  the  foot 
of  the  ladder  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground.  An- 
tonio wrested  a stiletto  from  his  nerveless  hand, 
and  hurried  up  the  ladder.  He  sprang  in  at  the 
window,  and  found  Inez  struggling  in  the  grasp 
of  his  fancied  rival : the  latter,  disturbed  from 
his  prey,  caught  up  his  lantern,  turned  its  light 
full  upon  Antonio,  and  drawing  his  sword,  made 
a furious  assault ; luckily  the  student  saw  the 
light  gleam  along  the  blade,  and  parried  the  thrust 
with  the  stiletto.  A fierce,  but  unequal  combat 
ensued.  Antonio  fought  exposed  to  the  full  glare 
of  the  light,  while  his  antagonist  was  in  shadow : 
his  stiletto,  too,  was  but  a poor  defence  against  a 
rapier.  He  saw  that  nothing  would  save  him 
but  closing  with  his  adversary  and  getting  with- 
in his  weapon  : he  rushed  furiously  upon  him, 
and  gave  him  a severe  blow  with  the  stiletto ; 
but  received  a wound  in  return  from  the  short 
ened  sword.  At  the  same  moment  a blow  was 
inflicted  from  behind,  by  the  confederate,  who 
had  ascended  the  ladder  ; it  felled  him  to  the 
floor,  and  his  antagonists  made  their  escape. 


216 


BRA  CEBU  ID  G E HALL. 


By  this  time  the  cries  of  Inez  had  brought  he* 
father  and  the  domestic  to  the  room.  Antonio 
was  found  weltering  in  his  blood,  and  senseless. 
He  was  conveyed  to  the  chamber  of  the  alche- 
mist, who  now  repaid  in  kind  the  attentions  which 
the  student  had  once  bestowed  upon  him.  Among 
his  varied  knowledge  he  possessed  some  skill  in 
surgery,  which  at  this  moment  was  of  more  value 
than  even  his  chemical  lore.  He  stanched  and 
dressed  the  wounds  of  his  disciple,  which  on  ex- 
amination proved  less  desperate  than  he  had  at 
first  apprehended.  For  a few  days,  however, 
his  case  was  anxious,  and  attended  with  danger. 
The  old  man  watched  over  him  with  the  affection 
of  a parent.  He  felt  a double  debt  of  gratitude 
towards  him  on  account  of  his  daughter  and  him- 
self ; he  loved  him  too  as  a faithful  and  zealous 
disciple ; and  he  dreaded  lest  the  world  should  be 
deprived  of  the  promising  talents  of  so  aspiring 
an  alchemist. 

An  excellent  constitution  soon  medicined  his 
wounds  ; and  there  was  a balsam  in  the  looks 
and  words  of  Inez,  that  had  a healing  effect  on 
the  still  severer  wounds  which  he  carried  in  his 
heart.  She  displayed  the  strongest  interest  in 
his  safety ; she  called  him  her  deliverer,  her  pre- 
server. It  seemed  as  if  her  grateful  disposition 
sought,  in  the  warmth  of  its  acknowledgments,  to 
repay  him  for  past  coldness.  But  what  most  con- 
tributed to  Antonio’s  recovery,  was  her  explanation 
concerning  his  supposed  rival.  It  was  some  time 
since  he  had  first  beheld  her  at  church,  and  he 
had  ever  since  persecuted  her  with  his  atten- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 


217 


iions.  He  had  beset  her  in  her  walks,  until  she 
had  been  obliged  to  confine  herself  to  the  house, 
except  when  accompanied  by  her  father.  He 
had  besieged  her  with  letters,  serenades,  and 
every  art  by  which  he  could  urge  a vehement, 
but  clandestine  and  dishonorable  suit.  The  scene 
in  the  garden  was  as  much  of  a surprise  to  her 
as  to  Antonio.  Her  persecutor  had  been  attract- 
ed by  her  voice,  and  had  found  his  way  over  a 
ruined  part  of  the  wall.  He  had  come  upon  her 
unawares,  was  detaining  her  by  force,  and  plead- 
ing his  insulting  passion,  when  the  appearance  of 
the  student  interrupted  him,  and  enabled  her  to 
make  her  escape.  She  had  forborne  to  mention 
to  her  father  the  persecution  which  she  suffered  ; 
she  wished  to  spare  him  unavailing  anxiety  and 
distress,  and  had  determined  to  confine  herself 
more  rigorously  to  the  house ; though  it  appeared 
that  even  here  she  had  not  been  safe  from  his 
daring  enterprise. 

Antonio  inquired  whether  she  knew  the  name 
of  this  impetuous  admirer  ? She  replied,  that  he 
had  made  his  advances  under  a fictitious  name ; 
but  that  she  had  heard  him  once  called  by  the 
name  of  Don  Ambrosio  de  Loxa. 

Antonio  knew  him,  by  report,  for  one  of  the 
most  determined  and  dangerous  libertines  in  all 
Grenada.  Artful,  accomplished,  and,  if  he  chose 
to  be  so,  insinuating  ; but  daring  and  headlong  in 
the  pursuit  of  his  pleasures  ; violent  and  impla- 
cable in  his  resentments.  He  rejoiced  to  find 
that  Inez  had  been  proof  against  his  seductions, 
ind  had  been  inspired  with  aversion  by  his  splen- 


218 


BRA  CEB  RID  GE  IIALL. 


did  profligacy ; but  he  trembled  to  think  of  the 
dangers  she  had  run,  and  he  felt  solicitude  about 
the  dangers  that  must  yet  environ  her. 

At  present,  however,  it  was  probable  the  en- 
emy had  a temporary  quietus.  The  traces  of 
blood  had  been  found  for  some  distance  from  the 
ladder,  until  they  were  lost  among  thickets ; and 
as  nothing  had  been  heard  or  seen  of  him  since, 
it  was  concluded  that  he  had  been  seriously 
wounded. 

As  the  student  recovered  from  his  wounds  he 
was  enabled  to  join  Inez  and  her  father  in  their 
domestic  intercourse.  The  chamber  in  which 
they  usually  met  had  probably  been  a saloon  of 
state  in  former  times.  The  floor  was  of  marble ; 
the  walls  were  partially  covered  with  remains  of 
tapestry ; the  chairs,  richly  carved  and  gilt,  were 
crazed  with  age,  and  covered  with  tarnished  and 
tattered  brocade.  Against  the  wall  hung  a long, 
rusty  rapier,  the  only  relic  that  the  old  man  re- 
tained of  the  chivalry  of  his  ancestors.  There 
might  have  been  something  to  provoke  a smile  in 
the  contrast  between  the  mansion  and  its  inhab- 
itants, between  present  poverty  and  the  traces  of 
departed  grandeur ; but  the  fancy  of  the  student  had 
thrown  so  much  romance  about  the  edifice  and  its 
inmates,  that  everything  was  clothed  with  charms. 
The  philosopher,  with  his  broken-down  pride,  and 
his  strange  pursuits,  seemed  to  comport  with  the 
melancholy  ruin  he  inhabited ; and  there  was  a 
native  elegance  of  spirit  about  the  daughter, 
that  showed  she  would  have  graced  the  mansion 
in  it**  happier  days. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  219 


Wliat  delicious  moments  were  these  to  the  stu- 
dent ! Inez  was  no  longer  coy  and  reserved. 
She  was  naturally  artless  and  confiding ; though 
the  kind  of  persecution  she  had  experienced  from 
one  admirer  had  rendered  her,  for  a time,  sus- 
picious and  circumspect  towards  the  other,  she 
now  felt  an  entire  confidence  in  the  sincerity  and 
worth  of  Antonio,  mingled  with  an  overflowing 
gratitude.  When  her  eyes  met  his,  they  beamed 
with  sympathy  and  kindness  ; and  Antonio,  no 
longer  haunted  by  the  idea  of  a favored  rival, 
once  more  aspired  to  success. 

At  these  domestic  meetings,  however,  he  had 
little  opportunity  of  paying  his  court,  except  by 
looks.  The  alchemist,  supposing  him,  like  him- 
self, absorbed  in  the  study  of  alchemy,  endeavored 
to  cheer  the  tediousness  of  his  recovery  by  long 
conversations  on  the  art.  He  even  brought  sev- 
eral of  his  half-burnt  volumes,  which  the  student 
had  once  rescued  from  the  flames,  and  rewarded 
him  for  their  preservation  by  reading  copious 
passages.  He  would  entertain  him  with  the  great 
and  good  acts  of  Flamel,  which  he  effected 
through  means  of  the  philosopher’s  stone,  reliev- 
ing widows  and  orphans,  founding  hospitals,  build- 
ing churches,  and  what  not ; or  with  the  interrog- 
atories of  King  Kalid,  and  the  answers  of  Mori- 
enus,  the  Roman  hermit  of  Hierusalem ; or  the 
profound  questions  which  Elardus,  a necromancer 
of  the  province  of  Catalonia,  put  to  the  devil,  touch- 
ing the  secrets  of  alchemy,  and  the  devil’s  replies. 

All  these  were  couched  in  occult  language,  al- 
most ur intelligible  to  the  unpractised  ear  of  the 


220 


BRA  CEB  HID  GE  HAIL. 


disciple.  Indeed,  the  old  man  delighted  in  tha 
mystic  phrases  and  symbolical  jargon  in  which 
the  writers  that  have  treated  of  alchemy  have 
wrapped  their  communications ; rendering  them 
incomprehensible  except  to  the  initiated.  With 
what  rapture  would  he  elevate  his  voice  at 
a triumphant  passage,  announcing  the  grand  dis- 
covery ! “ Thou  shalt  see,”  would  he  exclaim,  in 

the  words  of  Henry  Kuhnrade,*  “ the  stone  of 
the  philosophers  (our  king)  go  forth  of  the  bed- 
chamber of  his  glassy  sepulchre  into  the  theatre 
of  this  world;  that  is  to  say,  regenerated  and 
made  perfect,  a shining  carbuncle,  a most  temper- 
ate splendor,  whose  most  subtle  and  dephurated 
parts  are  inseparable,  united  into  one  with  a con- 
cordial  mixture,  exceeding  equal,  transparent  as 
crystal,  shining  red  like  a ruby,  permanently  col- 
oring or  ringing,  fixt  in  all  temptations  or  trials ; 
yea,  in  the  examination  of  the  burning  sulphur 
itself,  and  the  devouring  waters,  and  in  the  most 
vehement  persecution  of  the  fire,  always  incom- 
bustible and  permanent  as  a salamander  ! ” 

The  student  had  a high  veneration  for  the 
fathers  of  alchemy,  and  a profound  respect  for 
his  instructor  ; but  what  was  Henry  Kuhnrade, 
Geber,  Lully,  or  even  Albertus  Magnus  himself, 
compared  to  the  countenance  of  Inez,  which  pre- 
sented such  a page  of  beauty  to  his  perusal? 
While,  therefore,  the  good  alchemist  was  doling 
out  knowledge  by  the  hour,  his  disciple  would 
forget  books,  alchemy,  everything  but  the  lovely 
object  before  him.  Inez,  too,  unpractised  in  tha 
* Amphitheatre  of  the  Eternal  Wisdom. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  221 


lienee  of  the  heart,  was  gradually  becoming  fas- 
cinated by  the  silent  attentions  of  her  lover. 
Day  by  day  she  seemed  more  and  more  per- 
plexed by  the  kindling  and  strangely  pleasing 
emotions  of  her  bosom.  Her  eye  was  often  cast 
down  in  thought.  Blushes  stole  to  her  cheek 
without  any  apparent  cause,  and  light,  half-sup- 
pressed sighs  would  follow  these  short  fits  of 
musing.  Her  little  ballads,  though  the  same 
that  she  had  always  sung,  yet  breathed  a more 
tender  spirit.  Either  the  tones  of  her  voice  were 
more  soft  and  touching,  or  some  passages  were 
delivered  with  a feeling  which  she  had  never  be- 
fore given  them.  Antonio,  beside  his  love  for 
the  abstruse  sciences,  had  a pretty  turn  for  music ; 
and  never  did  philosopher  touch  the  guitar  more 
tastefully.  As,  by  degrees,  he  conquered  the 
mutual  embarrassment  that  kept  them  asunder, 
he  ventured  to  accompany  Inez  in  some  of  her 
songs.  He  had  a voice  full  of  fire  and  tender- 
ness ; as  he  sang,  one  would  have  thought,  from 
the  kindling  blushes  of  his  companion,  that  he  had 
been  pleading  his  own  passion  in  her  ear.  Let 
those  who  would  keep  two  youthful  hearts  asun- 
der beware  of  music.  Oh ! this  leaning  over 
chairs,  and  conning  the  same  music-book,  and  en- 
twining of  voices,  and  melting  away  in  harmo- 
nies ! — the  German  waltz  is  nothing  to  it. 

The  worthy  alchemist  saw  nothing  of  all  this. 
His  mind  could  admit  of  no  idea  that  was  not 
connected  with  the  discovery  of  the  grand  arca- 
num, and  he  supposed  his  youthful  coadjutor 
equally  demoted.  He  was  a mere  child  as  to  hu 


222 


BRACEDRJDGE  HALL. 


man  nature  ; and,  as  to  the  passion  of  love,  what- 
ever he  might  once  have  felt  of  it,  he  had  long 
since  forgotten  that  there  was  such  an  idle  passion 
in  existence.  But,  while  he  dreamed,  the  silent 
amour  went  on.  The  very  quiet  and  seclusion 
of  the  place  were  favorable  to  the  growth  of  ro- 
mantic passion.  The  opening  bud  of  love  was 
able  to  put  forth  leaf  by  leaf,  without  an  adverse 
wind  to  check  its  growth.  There  was  neither 
officious  friendship  to  chill  by  its  advice,  nor  in- 
sidious envy  to  wither  by  its  sneers,  nor  an  ob- 
serving world  to  look  on  and  stare  it  out  of  coun- 
tenance. There  was  neither  declaration,  nor  vow, 
nor  any  other  form  of  Cupid’s  canting  school. 
Their  hearts  mingled  together,  and  understood 
each  other  without  the  aid  of  language.  They 
lapsed  into  the  full  current  of  affection,  uncon- 
scious of  its  depth,  and  thoughtless  of  the  rocks 
that  might  lurk  beneath  its  surface.  Happy 
lovers!  who  wanted  nothing  to  make  their  fe- 
licity complete  but  the  discovery  of  the  philoso- 
pher’s stone. 

At  length  Antonio’s  health  was  sufficiently  re- 
stored to  enable  him  to  return  to  his  lodgings  in 
Grenada.  He  felt  uneasy,  however,  at  leaving 
the  tower,  while  lurking  danger  might  surround 
its  almost  defenceless  inmates.  He  dreaded  lest 
Don  Ambrosio,  recovered  from  his  wounds,  might 
plot  some  new  attempt,  by  secret  art  or  open  vi- 
olence. From  all  that  he  had  heard,  he  knew 
him  to  be  too  implacable  to  suffer  his  defeat  to 
pass  unavenged,  and  too  rash  and  fearless,  when 
his  arts  were  unavailing,  to  stop  at  any  daring 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 


223 


deed  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  purposes.  He 
urged  his  apprehensions  to  the  alchemist  and  his 
daughter,  and  proposed  that  they  should  abandon 
the  dangerous  vicinity  of  Grenada. 

“ I have  relations,”  said  he,  “ in  Valencia,  poor 
indeed,  but  worthy  and  affectionate.  Among 
them  you  will  find  friendship  and  quiet,  and  we 
may  there  pursue  our  labors  unmolested.”  He 
went  on  to  paint  the  beauties  and  delights  of  Va- 
lencia with  all  the  fondness  of  a native,  and  all 
the  eloquence  with  which  a lover  paints  the  fields 
and  groves  which  he  is  picturing  as  the  future 
scenes  of  his  happiness.  His  eloquence,  backed 
by  the  apprehensions  of  Inez,  was  successful  with 
the  alchemist,  who,  indeed,  had  led  too  unsettled 
a life  to  be  particular  about  the  place  of  his  resi- 
dence ; and  it  was  determined  that,  as  soon  as 
Antonio’s  health  was  perfectly  restored,  they 
should  abandon  the  tower,  and  seek  the  delicious 
neighborhood  of  Valencia.* 

To  recruit  his  strength,  the  student  suspended 
his  toils  in  the  laboratory,  and  spent  the  few  re- 
maining days,  before  departure,  in  taking  a fare- 

* Here  are  the  strongest  silks,  the  sweetest  wines,  the  ex- 
cellent’st  almonds,  the  best  oyls  and  beautifull’st  females  of 
all  Spain.  The  very  bruit  animals  make  themselves  beds  of 
rosemary,  and  other  fragrant  flowers  hereabouts ; and  when 
one  is  at  sea,  if  the  winde  blow  from  the  shore,  he  may  smell 
this  soyl  before  he  come  in  sight  of  it  many  leagues  off,  by  the 
strong  oderiferous  scent  it  casts.  As  it  is  the  most  pleasant, 
so  it  is  also  the  temperat’st  clime  of  all  Spain,  and  they  com 
jnonly  call  it  the  second  Italy,  which  made  the  Moors,  whereof 
many  thousands  were  disterr’d  and  banish’d  hence  to  Barbary 
to  think  that  Paradise  was  in  that  part  of  the  heavens  which 
hung  over  this  citie.  — Howell’s  Letters. 


224 


Bit  A CEB  RIDGE  HALL. 


well  look  at  the  enchanting  environs  of  Grenada, 
He  felt  returning  health  and  vigor  as  lie  inhaled 
the  pure  temperate  breezes  that  play  about  its  hills  ; 
and  the  happy  state  of  his  mind  contributed 
lo  his  rapid  recovery.  Inez  was  often  the  com- 
panion of  his  walks.  Her  descent,  by  the  moth- 
er’s side,  from  one  of  the  ancient  Moorish  families, 
gave  her  an  interest  in  this  once  favorite  seat 
of  Arabian  power.  She  gazed  with  enthusiasm 
upon  its  magnificent  monuments,  and  her  memory 
was  filled  with  the  traditional  tales  and  ballads 
of  Moorish  chivalry.  Indeed,  the  solitary  life  she 
had  led,  and  the  visionary  turn  of  her  father’s 
mind,  had  produced  an  effect  upon  her  charac- 
ter, and  given  it  a tinge  of  what,  in  modern 
days,  would  be  termed  romance.  All  this  was 
called  into  full  force  by  this  new  passion  ; for, 
when  a woman  first  begins  to  love,  life  is  all  ro- 
mance to  her. 

In  one  of  their  evening  strolls,  they  had  as- 
cended to  the  mountain  of  the  Sun,  where  is  sit- 
uated the  Generalise,  the  palace  of  pleasure,  in 
the  days  of  Moorish  dominion,  but  now  a gloomy 
convent  of  capuchins.  They  had  wandered  about 
its  garden,  among  groves  of  orange,  citron,  and 
cypress,  where  the  waters,  leaping  in  torrents,  or 
gushing  in  fountains,  or  tossed  aloft  in  sparkling 
jets,  fill  the  air  with  music  and  freshness.  There 
is  a melancholy  mingled  with  all  the  beauties  of 
this  garden,  that  gradually  stole  over  the  feelings 
of  the  lovers.  The  place  is  full  of  the  sad  story 
of  past  times.  It  was  the  favorite  abode  of  the 
lovely  queen  of  Grenada,  where  she  was  sur 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  225 


rounded  by  the  delights  of  a gay  and  voluptuous 
court.  It  was  here,  too,  amidst  her  own  bowers 
of  roses,  that  her  slanderers  laid  the  base  story 
of  her  dishonor,  and  struck  a fatal  blow  to  the 
line  of  the  gallant  Abencerrages. 

The  whole  garden  has  a look  of  ruin  and  neg- 
lect, Many  of  the  fountains  are  dry  and  broken  ; 
the  streams  have  wandered  from  their  marble 
channels,  and  are  choked  by  weeds  and  yellow 
leaves.  The  reed  whistles  to  the  wind  where  it 
had  once  sported  among  roses,  and  shaken  per- 
fume from  the  orange-blossom.  The  convent-bell 
flings  its  sullen  sound,  or  the  drowsy  vesper 
hymn  floats  along  these  solitudes,  which  once  re- 
sounded with  the  song,  and  the  dance,  and  the 
lover’s  serenade.  Well  may  the  Moors  lament 
over  the  loss  of  this  earthly  paradise  ; well  may 
they  remember  it  in  their  prayers,  and  beseech 
Heaven  to  restore  it  to  the  faithful ; well  may 
their  ambassadors  smite  their  breasts  when  they 
behold  these  monuments  of  their  race,  and  sit 
down  and  weep  among  the  fading  glories  of  Gre- 
nada ! 

It  is  impossible  to  wander  about  these  scenes 
of  departed  love  and  gayety,  and  not  feel  the  ten- 
derness of  the  heart  awakened.  It  was  then  that 
Antonio  first  ventured  to  breathe  his  passion,  and 
to  express  by  words  what  his  eyes  had  long  since 
so  eloquently  revealed.  He  made  his  avowal  with 
fervor,  but  with  frankness.  He  had  no  gay  pros- 
pects to  hold  out ; he  was  a poor  scholar,  depend- 
ent on  his  “ good  spirits  to  feed  and  clothe  him.” 
Bu'  a woman  in  love  is  no  interested  calculator. 

15 


226 


BRA  CEB  FUDGE  BALL. 


Inez  listened  to  him  with  downcast  ejres,  but  in 
them  was  a humid  gleam  that  showed  .her  heart 
was  with  him.  She  had  no  prudery  in  her  na- 
ture ; and  she  had  not  been  sufficiently  in  society 
to  acquire  it.  She  loved  him  with  all  the  ab- 
sence of  worldliness  of  a genuine  woman  ■ and, 
amidst  timid  smiles  and  blushes,  he  drew  from 
her  a modest  acknowledgment  of  her  affection. 

They  wandered  about  the  garden  with  that 
sweet  intoxication  of  the  soul  which  none  but 
happy  lovers  know.  The  world  about  them  was 
all  fairy  land ; and,  indeed,  it  spread  forth  one  of 
its  fairest  scenes  before  their  eyes,  as  if  to  fulfil 
their  dream  of  earthly  happiness.  They  looked 
out  from  between  groves  of  orange  upon  the  tow- 
ers of  Grenada  below  them  ; the  magnificent 
plain  of  the  Vega  beyond,  streaked  with  evening 
sunshine,  and  the  distant  hills  tinted  with  rosy  and 
purple  hues ; it  seemed  an  emblem  of  the  happy 
future  that  love  and  hope  were  decking  out  for 
them. 

As  if  to  make  the  scene  complete,  a group  of 
Andalusians  struck  up  a dance,  in  one  of  the  vis- 
tas of  the  garden,  to  the  guitars  of  two  wandering 
musicians.  The  Spanish  music  is  wild  and  plain- 
tive, yet  the  people  dance  to  it  with  spirit  and  en- 
thusiasm. The  picturesque  figures  of  the  dances, 
the  girls  with  their  . hair  in  silken  nets  that  hung 
in  knots  and  tassels  down  their  backs,  their  man- 
tillas floating  round  their  graceful  forms,  their 
slender  feet  peeping  from  under  their  basquinas, 
their  arms  tossed  up  in  the  air  to  play  the  casta- 
nets, had  a beautiful  effect  on  this  airy  height,  with 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 


227 


the  rich  evening  landscape  spreading  out  below 
them. 

When  the  dance  was  ended,  two  of  the  parties 
approached  Antonio  and  Inez ; one  of  them  be- 
gan a soft  and  tender  Moorish  ballad,  accompanied 
by  the  other  on  the  lute.  It  alluded  to  the  story 
of  the  garden,  the  wrongs  of  the  fair  queen  of 
Grenada,  and  the  misfortunes  of  the  Abencerrages. 
It  was  one  of  those  old  ballads  that  abound  in 
this  part  of  Spain,  and  live,  like  echoes,  about  the 
ruins  of  Moorish  greatness.  The  heart  of  Inez 
was  at  that  moment  open  to  every  tender  impres- 
sion ; the  tears  rose  into  her  eyes  as  she  listened 
to  the  tale.  The  singer  approached  nearer  to 
her ; she  was  striking  in  her  appearance  ; young, 
beautiful,  with  a mixture  of  wildness  and  melan- 
choly in  her  fine  black  eyes.  She  fixed  them 
mournfully  and  expressively  on  Inez,  and  sud- 
denly varying  her  manner,  sang  another  ballad, 
which  treated  of  impending  danger  and  treach- 
ery. All  this  might  have  passed  for  a mere  ac- 
cidental caprice  of  the  singer,  had  there  not  been 
something  in  her  look,  manner,  and  gesticulation, 
that  made  it  pointed  and  startling. 

Inez  was  about  to  ask  the  meaning  of  this  evi- 
dently personal  application  of  the  song,  when  she 
was  interrupted  by  Antonio,  who  gently  drew  her 
from  the  place.  Whilst  she  had  been  lost  in  at- 
tention to  the  music,  he  had  remarked  a group  of 
men,  in  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  whispering  to- 
gether. They  were  enveloped  in  the  broad  hats 
and  great  cloaks  so  much  worn  by  the  Spanish, 
and  while  they  were  regarding  himself  and  Inez 


228 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


attentively,  seemed  anxious  to  avoid  observation. 
Not  knowing  what  might  be  their  character  or  in- 
tention, he  hastened  to  quit  a place  where  the 
gathering  shadows  of  evening  might  expose  them 
to  intrusion  and  insult.  On  their  way  down  the 
hill,  as  they  passed  through  the  wood  of  elms, 
mingled  with  poplars  and  oleanders,  that  skirts 
(lie  road  leading  from  the  Alhambra,  he  again 
saw  these  men,  apparently  following  at  a dis- 
tance ; and  he  afterwards  caught  sight  of  them 
among  the  trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Darro.  He 
said  nothing  on  the  subject  to  Inez,  nor  her  father, 
lor  he  would  not  awaken  unnecessary  alarm  ; but 
he  felt  at  a loss  how  to  ascertain  or  to  avert  any 
machinations  that  might  be  devising  against  the 
helpless  inhabitants  of  the  tower. 

He  took  his  leave  of  them  late  at  night,  full 
of  this  perplexity.  As  he  left  the  dreary  old 
pile,  he  saw  some  one  lurking  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wall,  apparently  watching  his  movements. 
He  hastened  after  the  figure,  but  it  glided  away, 
and  disappeared  among  some  ruins.  Shortly  after 
he  heard  a low  whistle,  which  was  answered  from 
a little  distance.  He  had  no  longer  a doubt  but. 
that  some  mischief  was  on  foot,  and  turned  to 
hasten  back  to  the  tower,  and  put  its  inmates  on 
their  guard.  He  had  scarcely  turned,  however, 
before  he  found  himself  suddenly  seized  from  be- 
hind by  some  one  of  Herculean  strength.  His 
struggles  were  in  vain ; he  was  surrounded  by 
armed  men.  One  threw  a mantle  over  him  that 
stifled  his  cries,  and  enveloped  him  in  its  folds  , 
and  he  was  hurried  od*  with  irresistible  rapidity, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 229 


Tlie  next  day  passed  without  the  appearance 
^>f  Antonio  at  the  alchemist’s.  Another,  and  an- 
other day  succeeded,  and  yet  he  did  not  come  ; 
nor  had  anything  been  heard  of  him  at  his  lodg- 
ings. His  absence  caused,  at  first,  surprise  and 
conjecture,  and  at  length  alarm.  Inez  recollected 
the  singular  intimations  of  the  ballad-singer  upon 
the  mountain,  which  seemed  to  warn  her  of  im- 
pending danger,  and  her  mind  was  full  of  vague 
forebodings.  She  sat  listening  to  every  sound  at 
the  gate,  or  footstep  on  the  stairs.  She  would 
take  up  her  guitar  and  strike  a few  notes,  but 
it  would  not  do  ; her  heart  was  sickening  with 
suspense  and  anxiety.  She  had  never  before  felt 
what  it  was  to  be  really  lonely.  She  now  was 
conscious  of  the  force  of  that  attachment  which 
had  taken  possession  of  her  breast ; for  never  do 
we  know  how  much  we  love,  never  do  we  know 
how  necessary  the  object  of  our  love  is  to  our 
happiness,  until  we  experience  the  weary  void  of 
separation. 

The  philosopher,  too,  felt  the  absence  of  his 
disciple  almost  as  sensibly  as  did  his  daughter. 
The  animating  buoyancy  of  the  youth  had  in- 
spired him  with  new  ardor,  and  had  given  to  his 
labors  the  charm  of  full  companionship.  How- 
ever, he  had  resources  and  consolations  of  which 
his  daughter  was  destitute.  His  pursuits  were 
of  a nature  to  occupy  every  thought,  and  keep 
the  spirits  in  a state  of  continual  excitement. 
Certain  indications,  too,  had  lately  manifested 
themselves,  of  the  most  favorable  nature.  Forty 
days  and  forty  nights  had  the  process  gone  on 


230 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL . 


successfully ; the  old  man’s  hopes  were  constantly 
rising,  and  he  now  considered  the  glorious  mo- 
ment once  more  at  hand,  when  he  should  obtain 
not  merely  the  major  lunaria,  but  likewise  the 
tinctura  Solaris,  the  means  of  multiplying  gold, 
and  of  prolonging  existence.  He  remained, 
therefore,  continually  shut  up  in  his  laboratory, 
watching  his  furnace;  for  a moment’s  inadver- 
tency might  once  more  defeat  all  his  expecta- 
tions. 

He  was  sitting  one  evening  at  one  of  his  soli- 
tary vigils,  wrapped  up  in  meditation ; the  hour 
was  late,  and  his  neighbor,  the  owl,  was  hooting 
from  the  battlement  of  the  tower,  when  he  heard 
the  door  open  behind  him.  Supposing  it  to  be 
his  daughter  coming  to  take  her  leave  of  him  for 
the  night,  as  was  her  frequent  practice,  he  called 
her  by  name,  but  a harsh  voice  met  his  ear  in 
reply.  He  was  grasped  by  the  arms,  and  looking 
up,  perceived  three  strange  men  in  the  chamber. 
He  attempted  to  shake  them  off,  but  in  vain. 
He  called  for  help,  but  they  scoffed  at  his  cries. 

“ Peace,  dotard ! ” cried  one,  “ think’st  thou 
the  servants  of  the  most  holy  inquisition  are  to 
be  daunted  by  thy  clamors  ? Comrades,  away 
with  him ! ” 

Without  heeding  his  remonstrances  and  en- 
treaties, they  seized  upon  his  books  and  papers, 
took  some  note  of  the  apartment,  and  the  uten- 
sils, and  then  bore  him  off  a prisoner. 

Inez,  left  to  herself,  had  passed  a sad  and  lonely 
evening;  seated  by  a casement  which  looked  in- 
to the  garden,  she  had  pensively  watched  star 


THE  STL  DENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  231 


after  star  sparkle  out  of  the  blue  depths  of  the  sky, 
and  was  indulging  a crowd  of  anxious  thoughts 
about  her  lover,  until  the  rising  tears  began  to 
flow.  She  was  suddenly  alarmed  by  the  sound 
of  voices  that  seemed  to  come  from  a distant  part 
of  the  mansion.  There  was  not  long  after  a 
noise  of  several  persons  descending  the  stairs. 
Surprised  at  these  unusual  sounds  in  their  lonely 
habitation,  she  remained  for  a few  moments  in  a 
state  of  trembling  yet  indistinct  apprehension, 
when  the  servant  rushed  into  the  room,  with  ter- 
ror in  her  countenance,  and  informed  her  that 
her  father  was  carried  off  by  armed  men. 

Inez  did  not  stop  to  hear  further,  but  flew 
down-stairs  to  overtake  them.  She  had  scarcely 
passed  the  threshold  when  she  found  herself  in 
the  grasp  of  strangers.  — “ Away  ! away  ! ” cried 
she,  wildly ; “ do  not  stop  me  — let  me  follow 
my  father.” 

“We  come  to  conduct  you  to  him,  senora,” 
said  one  of  the  men,  respectfully. 

“ Where  is  he  then  ? ” 

“ He  is  gone  to  Grenada,”  replied  the  man  : 
“ an  unexpected  circumstance  requires  his  pres- 
ence there  immediately ; but  he  is  among 
friends.” 

“We  have  no  friends  in  Grenada,”  said  Inez, 
drawing  back.  But  then  the  idea  of  Antonio 
rushed  into  her  mind  ; something  relating  to  him 
might  have  called  her  father  thither.  “ Is  Senor 
Antonio  de  Castros  with  him  ? ” demanded  she, 
with  agitation. 

“ I knc  w not,  senora,”  replied  the  man.  “ It 


232 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


is  very  possible.  I only  know  that  your  fathei 
is  among  friends,  and  is  anxious  for  you  to  follow 
him.” 

“ Let  us  go,  then,”  cried  she,  eagerly.  The 
men  led  her  a little  distance  to  where  a mule 
was  waiting,  and,  assisting  her  to  mount,  they 
conducted  her  slowly  towards  the  city. 

Grenada  was  on  that  evening  a scene  of  fan- 
ciful  revel.  It  was  one  of  the  festivals  of  the 
Maestranza,  an  association  of  the  nobility  to  keep 
up  some  of  the  gallant  customs  of  ancient  chivalry. 
There  had  been  a representation  of  a tournament 
in  one  of  the  squares  ; the  streets  would  still  occa- 
sionally resound  with  the  beat  of  a solitary  drum, 
or  the  bray  of  a trumpet,  from  some  straggling 
party  of  revellers.  Sometimes  they  were  met  by 
cavaliers,  richly  dressed  in  ancient  costumes,  at- 
tended by  their  squires  ; and  at  one  time  they 
passed  in  sight  of  a palace  brilliantly  illuminated, 
whence  came  the  mingled  sounds  of  music  and  the 
dance.  Shortly  after  they  came  to  the  square, 
where  the  mock  tournament  had  been  held.  It 
was  thronged  by  the  populace,  recreating  them- 
selves among  booths  and  stalls  where  refreshments 
were  sold,  and  the  glare  of  torches  showed  the 
temporary  galleries,  and  gay-colored  awnings,  and 
armorial  trophies,  and  other  paraphernalia  of  the 
show.  The  conductors  of  Inez  endeavored  to 
keep  out  of  observation,  and  to  traverse  a gloomy 
part  of  the  square ; but  they  were  detained  at 
one  place  by  the  pressure  of  a crowd  surrounding 
a party  of  wandering  musicians,  singing  one  of 
those  ballads  of  which  the  Spanish  ponulace  are 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMAN CA. 


233 


so  passionately  fond.  The  torches  which  were 
held  by  some  of  the  crowd,  threw  a strong  mass 
of  light  upon  Inez,  and  the  sight  of  so  beautiful  a 
being,  without  mantilla  or  veil,  looking  so  bewil- 
dered, and  conducted  by  men  who  seemed  to  take 
no  gratification  in  the  surrounding  gayety,  occa- 
sioned expressions  of  curiosity.  One  of  the  bal- 
lad-singers approached,  and  striking  her  guitar 
with  peculiar  earnestness,  began  to  sing  a doleful 
air,  full  of  sinister  forebodings.  Inez  started 
with  surprise.  It  was  the  same  ballad-singer 
that  had  addressed  her  in  the  garden  of  Gener- 
aliffe.  It  was  the  same  air  that  she  had  then 
sung.  It  spoke  of  impending  dangers  ; they 
seemed,  indeed,  to  be  thickening  around  her. 
She  was  anxious  to  speak  with  the  girl,  and 
to  ascertain  whether  she  really  had  a knowledge 
of  any  definite  evil  that  was  threatening  her ; 
but  as  she  attempted  to  address  her,  the  mule 
on  which  she  rode  was  suddenly  seized  and  led 
forcibly  through  the  throng  by  one  of  her  con- 
ductors, while  she  saw  another  addressing  mena- 
cing words  to  the  ballad-singer.  The  latter  raised 
her  hand  with  a warning  gesture  as  Inez  lost 
sight  of  her. 

While  she  was  yet  lost  in  perplexity,  caused 
by  this  singular  occurrence,  they  stopped  at  the 
gate  of  a large  mansion.  One  of  her  attendants 
knocked,  the  door  was  opened,  and  they  entered 
a paved  court.  “ Where  are  we  ? ” demanded 
Inez,  with  anxiety.  “At  the  house  of  a friend, 
senora,”  replied  the  man.  “ Ascend  this  staircase 
with  me,  and  in  a moment  you  will  meet  your 
father.” 


234 


BRACEBRTDGE  HALL . 


They  ascended  a staircase  that  led  to  a suite  of 
splendid  apartments.  They  passed  through  sev* 
eral  until  they  came  to  an  inner  chamber.  The 
door  opened  ; some  one  approached  ; but  what 
was  her  terror  on  perceiving,  not  her  father,  but 
Don  Ambrosio ! 

The  men  wdio  had  seized  upon  the  alchemist 
had,  at  least,  been  more  honest  in  their  professions. 
They  were,  indeed,  familiars  of  the  inquisition. 
He  was  conducted  in  silence  to  the  gloomy  prison 
of  that  horrible  tribunal.  It  was  a mansion 
whose  very  aspect  withered  joy,  and  almost  shut 
out  hope.  It  was  one  of  those  hideous  abodes 
which  the  bad  passions  of  men  conjure  up  in  this 
fair  world,  to  rival  the  fancied  dens  of  demons 
and  the  accursed. 

Day  after  day  went  heavily  by,  without  any- 
thing to  mark  the  lapse  of  time  but  the  decline 
and  reappearance  of  the  light  that  feebly  glim- 
mered through  the  narrow  window  of  the  dun- 
geon in  which  the  unfortunate  alchemist  was  bur- 
ied rather  than  confined.  His  mind  was  harassed 
with  uncertainties  and  fears  about  his  daughter, 
so  helpless  and  inexperienced.  He  endeavored 
to  gather  tidings  of  her  from  the  man  who 
brought  his  daily  portion  of  food.  The  fellow 
stared,  as  if  astonished  at  being  asked  a question 
in  that  mansion  of  silence  and  mystery,  but  de- 
parted without  saying  a word.  Every  succeed- 
ing attempt  was  equally  fruitless. 

The  poor  alchemist  was  oppressed  with  many 
griefs  ; and  it  was  not  the  least  that  he  had  been 
again  interrupted  in  his  labors  on  the  very  point 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 235 


of  success.  Never  was  alchemist  so  near  attain- 
ing the  golden  secret ; — a little  longer,  and  all 
his  hopes  would  have  been  realized.  The 
thoughts  of  these  disappointments  afflicted  him 
more  than  even  the  fear  of  all  that  he  might  suf- 
fer from  the  merciless  inquisition.  His  waking 
thoughts  would  follow  him  into  his  dreams.  He 
would  be  transported  in  fancy  to  his  laboratory, 
busied  again  among  retorts  and  alembics,  and 
surrounded  by  Lully,  by  D’ Abano,  by  Olybius, 
and  the  other  masters  of  the  sublime  art.  The 
moment  of  projection  would  arrive  ; a seraphic 
form  would  arise  out  of  the  furnace,  holding  forth 
a vessel  containing  the  precious  elixir;  but,  be- 
fore he  could  grasp  the  prize,  he  would  awake, 
and  find  himself  in  a dungeon. 

All  the  devices  of  inquisitorial  ingenuity  were 
employed  to  ensnare  the  old  man,  and  to  draw 
from  him  evidence  that  might  be  brought  against 
himself,  and  might  corroborate  certain  secret  in- 
formation given  against  him.  He  had  been  ac- 
cused of  practising  necromancy  and  judicial  astrol- 
ogy, and  a cloud  of  evidence  had  been  secretly 
brought  forward  to  substantiate  the  charge.  It 
would  be  tedious  to  enumerate  all  the  circum- 
stances, apparently  corroborative,  which  had  been 
industriously  cited  by  the  secret  accuser.  The 
silence  which  prevailed  about  the  tower,  its  des- 
olateness, the  very  quiet  of  its  inhabitants,  had 
been  adduced  as  proofs  that  something  sinister 
was  perpetrated  within.  The  alchemist’s  conver- 
sations and  soliloquies  in  the  garden  had  been 
overheard  and  misrepresented.  The  lights  and 


236 


BRACE BR IDGE  IIALL . 


Btrange  appearances  at  night,  in  the  tower,  were 
given  with  violent  exaggerations.  Shrieks  and 
yells  were  said  to  have  been  heard  thence  at  mid- 
night, when,  it  was  confidently  asserted,  the  old 
man  raised  familiar  spirits  by  his  incantations, 
and  even  compelled  the  dead  to  rise  from  their 
graves,  and  answer  to  his  questions. 

The  alchemist,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
inquisition,  was  kept  in  complete  ignorance  of 
his  accuser ; of  the  witnesses  produced  against 
him  ; even  of  the  crimes  of  which  he  was  accused. 
He  was  examined  generally,  whether  he  knew 
why  he  was  arrested,  and  was  conscious  of  any 
guilt  that  might  deserve  the  notice  of  the  holy 
office?  He  was  examined  as  to  his  country,  his 
life,  his  habits,  his  pursuits,  his  actions,  and  opin- 
ions. The  old  man  was  frank  and  simple  in  his 
replies ; he  was  conscious  of  no  guilt,  capable  of 
no  art,  practised  in  no  dissimulation.  After  re- 
ceiving a general  admonition  to  bethink  himself 
whether  he  had  not  committed  any  act  deserving 
of  punishment,  and  to  prepare,  by  confession,  to 
secure  the  well-known  mercy  of  the  tribunal,  he 
was  remanded  to  his  cell. 

He  was  now  visited  in  his  dungeon  by  crafty 
familiars  of  the  inquisition ; who,  under  pretence 
of  sympathy  and  kindness,  came  to  beguile  the 
tediousness  of  his  imprisonment  with  friendly  con- 
versation. They  casually  introduced  the  subject 
of  alchemy,  on  which  they  touched  with  great 
caution  and  pretended  indifference.  There  was 
no  need  of  such  craftiness.  The  honest  enthusi- 
ast had  no  suspicion  in  his  nature  : the  moment 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  237 


they  touched  upon  his  favorite  theme,  he  forgot 
his  misfortunes  and  imprisonment,  and  broke  forth 
into  rhapsodies  about  the  divine  science. 

The  conversation  was  artfully  turned  to  the 
discussion  of  elementary  beings.  The  alchemist 
readily  allowed  his  belief  in  them  ; and  that  there 
had  been  instances  of  their  attending  upon  phi- 
losophers, and  administering  to  their  wishes.  He 
related  many  miracles  said  to  have  been  performed 
by  Apollonius  Thyaneus,  through  the  aid  of 
spirits  or  demons  ; insomuch  that  he  was  set  up 
by  the  heathens  in  opposition  to  the  Messiah  ; 
and  was  even  regarded  with  reverence  by  many 
Christians.  The  familiars  eagerly  demanded 
whether  he  believed  Apollonius  to  be  a true  and 
worthy  philosopher.  The  unaffected  piety  of  the 
ilchemist  protected  him  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
simplicity ; for  he  condemned  Apollonius  as  a 
sorcerer  and  an  impostor.  No  art  could  draw  from 
him  an  admission  that  he  had  ever  employed  or  in- 
voked spiritual  agencies  in  the  prosecution  of  his 
pursuits,  though  he  believed  himself  to  have  been 
frequently  impeded  by  their  invisible  interference. 

The  inquisitors  were  sorely  vexed  at  not  being 
able  to  inveigle  him  into  a confession  of  a crim- 
inal nature ; they  attributed  their  failure  to  craft, 
to  obstinacy,  to  every  cause  but  the  right  one, 
namely,  that  the  harmless  visionary  had  nothing 
guilty  to  confess.  They  had  abundant  proof  of  a 
secret  nature  against  him ; but  it  was  the  prac- 
tice of  the  inquisition  to  endeavor  to  procure  con- 
fession from  the  prisoners.  An  auto  da  fe  was  at 
hand  ; the  worthy  fathers  were  eager  for  his  am- 


238 


BRA  CEBRID'iE  HALL. 


vict.ion,  for  they  were  always  anxious  t b have  a 
good  number  of  culprits  condemned  to  the  stake, 
to  grace  these  solemn  triumphs.  He  was  at 
length  brought  to  a final  examination. 

The  chamber  of  trial  was  spacious  and  gloomy. 
At  one  end  was  a huge  crucifix,  the  standard  of 
the  inquisition.  A long  table  extended  through 
the  centre  of  the  room,  at  which  sat  the  inquisi- 
tors and  their  secretary  ; at  the  other  end  a stool 
was  placed  for  the  prisoner. 

He  was  brought  in,  according  to  custom,  bare- 
headed and  bare-legged.  He  was  enfeebled  by 
confinement  and  affliction ; by  constantly  brood- 
ing over  the  unknown  fate  of  his  child,  and  the 
disastrous  interruption  of  his  experiments.  He 
sat  bowed  down  and  listless  ; liis  head  sunk  upon 
his  breast;  his  whole  appearance  that  of  one 
“ past  hope,  abandoned,  and  by  himself  given 
over.” 

The  accusation  alleged  against  him  was  now 
brought  forward  in  a specific  form  ; he  was  called 
upon  by  name,  Felix  de  Yasquez,  formerly  of 
Castile,  to  answer  to  the  charges  of  necromancy 
and  demonology.  He  was  told  that  the  charges 
were  amply  substantiated ; and  was  asked  whether 
he  wa3  ready,  by  full  confession,  to  throw  himself 
upon  the  well-known  mercy  of  the  holy  inquisi- 
tion. 

The  philosopher  testified  some  little  surprise  at 
the  nature  of  the  accusation,  but  simply  replied, 
K I am  innocent.” 

“ What  proof  have  you  to  give  of  your  inno- 
cence ? ” 


TFIE  STUDENT  OF  SALajTANCA.  239 


“ It  rather  remains  for  you  to  prove  your 
charges,”  said  the  old  man.  “ I am  a stranger 
and  a sojourner  in  the  land,  and  know  no  one  out 
of  the  doors  of  my  dwelling.  I can  give  noth- 
ing in  my  vindication  but  the  word  of  a noble- 
man and  a Castilian.” 

The  inquisitor  shook  his  head,  and  went  on  to 
repeat  the  various  inquiries  that  had  before  been 
made  as  to  his  mode  of  life  and  pursuits.  The 
poor  alchemist  was  too  feeble  and  too  weary  at 
heart  to  make  any  but  brief  replies.  He  re- 
quested that  some  man  of  science  might  examine 
his  laboratory,  and  all  his  books  and  papers,  by 
which  it  would  be  made  abundantly  evident  that 
he  was  merely  engaged  in  the  study  of  alchemy. 

To  this  the  inquisitor  observed,  that  alchemy 
had  become  a mere  covert  for  secret  and  deadly 
sins.  That  the  practisers  of  it  were  apt  to  scru- 
ple at  no  means  to  satisfy  their  inordinate  greed- 
iness of  gold.  Some  had  been  known  to  use 
spells  and  impious  ceremonies  ; to  conjure  the  aid 
of  evil  spirits ; nay,  even  to  sell  their  souls  to 
the  enemy  of  mankind,  so  that  they  might  riot  in 
boundless  wealth  while  living. 

The  poor  alchemist  had  heard  all  patiently,  or, 
at  least,  passively.  He  had  disdained  to  vindi- 
cate his  name  otherwise  than  by  his  word ; he 
had  smiled  at  the  accusations  of  sorcery,  when 
applied  merely  to  himself;  but  when  the  sublime 
art,  which  had  been  the  study  and  passion  of  his 
life,  was  assailed,  he  could  no  longer  listen  in  si- 
lence. His  head  gradually  rose  from  his  bosom ; 
a hectic  color  came  in  faint  streaks  to  his  cheeks, 


2 10 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


played  about  there,  disappeared,  returned,  and  at 
length  kindled  into  a burning  glow.  The  clammy 
dampness  dried  from  his  forehead  ; his  eyes,  which 
had  been  nearly  extinguished,  lighted  up  again, 
and  burned  with  their  wonted  arid  visionary  tires. 
Pie  entered  into  a vindication  of  his  favorite  art. 
His  voice  at  first  was  feeble  and  broken  ; but  it 
gathered  strength  as  he  proceeded,  until  it  rolled 
in  a deep  and  sonorous  volume.  He  gradually 
rose  from  his  seat  as  he  rose  with  his  subject ; he 
threw  back  the  scanty  black  mantle  which  had 
hitherto  wrapped  his  limbs  ; the  very  uncouthness 
of  his  form  and  looks  gave  an  impressive  effect  to 
what  he  uttered ; it  was  as  though  a corpse  had 
become  suddenly  animated. 

He  repelled  with  scorn  the  aspersions  cast  upon 
alchemy  by  the  ignorant  and  vulgar.  He  affirmed 
it  v'  be  the  mother  of  all  art  and  science,  citing 
the  opinions  of  Paracelsus,  Sandivogius,  Ray- 
mo).  d Lully,  and  others,  in  support  of  his  asser- 
tions. He  maintained  that  it  was  pure  and  inno- 
cenv,  and  honorable  both  in  its  purposes  and 
means.  What  were  its  objects  ? The  perpetua- 
tion of  life  and  youth,  and  the  production  of  gold. 
“ The  elixir  vitae,”  said  he,  “ is  no  charmed  potion, 
but  merely  a concentration  of  those  elements  of 
vitality  which  nature  has  scattered  through  her 
works.  The  philosopher’s  stone,  or  tincture,  or 
powder,  as  it  is  variously  called,  is  no  necromantic 
talisman,  but  consists  simply  of  those  particles 
which  gold  contains  within  itself  for  its  reproduc- 
tion ; for  gold,  like  other  things,  has  its  seed 
within  itself,  though  bound  up  with  inconceivable 


THE  STUDENT  Of  SALAMANCA.  241 


firmness,  from  the  vigor  of  innate  fixed  salts  and 
sulphurs.  In  seeking  to  discover  the  elixir  of 
life,  then,”  continued  he,  44  we  seek  only  to  apply 
some  of  nature’s  own  specifics  against  the  disease 
and  decay  to  which  our  bodies  are  subjected  • 
and  what  else  does  the  physician,  when  he  tasks 
his  art,  and  uses  subtle  compounds  and  cunning 
distillations  to  revive  our  languishing  powers,  and 
avert  the  stroke  of  death  for  a season  ? 

44  In  seeking  to  multiply  the  precious  metals, 
also,  we  seek  but  to  germinate  and  multiply,  b^ 
natural  means,  a particular  species  of  nature’s 
productions  ; and  what  else  does  the  husbandman, 
who  consults  times  and  seasons,  and,  by  what 
might  be  deemed  a natural  magic,  from  the  mere 
scattering  of  his  hand,  covers  a whole  plain  with 
golden  vegetation  ? The  mysteries  of  our  art, 
it  is  true,  are  deeply  and  darkly  hidden  ; but  it 
requires  so  much  the  more  innocence  and  purity 
of  thought  to  penetrate  unto  them.  No,  father, 
the  true  alchemist  must  be  pure  in  mind  and 
body ; he  must  be  temperate,  patient,  chaste, 
watchful,  meek,  humble,  devout.  4 My  son,’  says 
Hermes  Trismegestes,  the  great  master  of  our 
art,  4 my  son,  I recommend  you  above  all  things 
to  fear  God.’  And  indeed  it  is  only  by  devout 
castigation  of  the  senses  and  purification  of  the 
soul,  that  the  alchemist  is  enabled  to  enter  into 
the  sacred  chambers  of  truth.  4 Labor,  pray,  and 
read,’  is  the  motto  of  our  science.  As  De  Nuyse- 
inent  well  observes,  4 these  high  and  singular 
favors  are  granted  unto  none  save  only  unto  the 
sons  of  God,  (that  is  to  say,  the  virtuous  and  de- 
16 


242 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


vout,)  who,  under  his  paternal  benediction,  have 
obtained  the  opening  of  the  same,  by  the  helping 
hand  of  the  queen  of  arts,  divine  Philosophy. 
Indeed,  so  sacred  has  the  nature  of  this  knowl 
edge  been  considered,  that  we  are  told  it  hag 
four  times  been  expressly  communicated  by  God 
to  man,  having  made  a part  of  that  cabalis- 
tieal  wisdom  which  was  revealed  to  Adam  to  con- 
sole him  for  the  loss  of  Paradise,  to  Moses  in 
the  bush,  to  Solomon  in  a dream,  and  to  Esdras 
by  the  angel. 

“ So  far  from  demons  and  malign  spirits  being 
the  friends  and  abettors  of  the  alchemist,  they 
are  the  continual  foes  with  which  he  has  to  con- 
tend. It  is  their  constant  endeavor  to  shut  up 
the  avenues  to  those  truths  which  would  enable 
him  to  rise  above  the  abject  state  into  which  he 
has  fallen,  and  return  to  that  excellence  which 
was  his  original  birthright.  For  what  would  be 
the  effect  of  this  length  of  days,  and  this  abun- 
dant wealth,  but  to  enable  the  possessor  to  go  on 
from  art  to  art,  from  science  to  science,  with  en- 
ergies unimpaired  by  sickness,  uninterrupted  by 
death?  For  this  have  sages  and  philosophers 
shut  themselves  up  in  cells  and  solitudes  ; buried 
themselves  in  caves  and  dens  of  the  earth  ; turn- 
ing from  the  joys  of  life,  and  the  pleasance  of 
the  world ; enduring  scorn,  poverty,  persecution. 
For  this  was  Raymond  Lully  stoned  to  death  in 
Mauritania.  For  this  did  the  immortal  Pietro 
I)’ Abano  suffer  persecution  at  Padua,  and  when 
he  escaped  from  his  oppressors  by  death,  was 
despitefully  burnt  in  effigy.  For  this  have  ill  us- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  243 


fcrious  men  of  all  nations  intrepidly  suffered  mar- 
tyrdom. For  this,  if  unmolested,  have  they  as- 
siduously employed  the  latest  hour  of  life,  the 
expiring  throb  of  existence,  hoping  to  the  last  that 
they  might  yet  seize  upon  the  prize  for  which  they 
had  struggled,  and  pluck  themselves  back  even 
from  the  very  jaws  of  the  grave. 

“ For,  when  once  the  alchemist  shall  have 
attained  the  object  of  his  toils,  when  the  sublime 
secret  shall  be  revealed  to  his  gaze,  how  glorious 
will  be  the  change  in  his  condition  ! How  will 
he  emerge  from  his  solitary  retreat,  like  the  sun 
breaking  forth  from  the  darksome  chamber  of  the 
night,  and  darting  his  beams  throughout  the 
earth  ! Gifted  with  perpetual  youth  and  bound- 
less riches,  to  what  heights  of  wisdom  may  he 
attain ! How  may  he  carry  on,  uninterrupted, 
the  thread  of  knowledge,  which  has  hitherto  been 
snapped  at  the  death  of  each  philosopher ! And, 
as  the  increase  of  wisdom  is  the  increase  of  vir- 
tue, how  may  he  become  the  benefactor  of  his 
fellow-men ; dispensing  with  liberal,  but  cautious 
and  discriminating  hand,  that  inexhaustible  wealth 
which  is  at  his  disposal ; banishing  poverty,  which 
is  the  cause  of  so  much  sorrow  and  wickedness ; 
encouraging  the  arts  ; promoting  discoveries,  and 
enlarging  all  the  means  of  virtuous  enjoyment ! 
His  life  will  be  the  connecting  band  of  genera- 
tions. History  will  live  in  his  recollection  ; dis- 
tant ages  will  speak  with  his  tongue.  The 
nations  of  the  earth  will  look  to  him  as  their  pre- 
ceptor, and  kings  will  sit  at  his  feet  and  learn 
wisdom.  Oh  glorious  ! oh  celestial  alchemy  ! ” — 


244 


BRACEBRIDGE  n ALL 


Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  inquisitor,  who 
had  suffered  him  to  go  on  thus  far,  in  hopes  of 
gathering  something  from  his  unguarded  enthu- 
siasm. “ Sehor,”  said  he,  u this  is  all  rambling, 
visionary  talk.  You  are  charged  with  sorcery, 
and  in  defence  you  give  us  a rhapsody  about  al- 
chemy. Have  you  nothing  better  than  this  to 
offer  in  your  defence  ? ” 

The  old  man  slowly  resumed  his  seat,  but  did 
deign  no  reply.  The  fire  that  had  beamed  in  his 
eye  gradually  expired.  His  cheek  resumed  its 
wonted  paleness  ; but  he  did  not  relapse  into  in- 
anity. He  sat  with  a steady,  serene,  patient  look, 
like  one  prepared  not  to  contend  but  to  suffer. 

His  trial  continued  for  a long  time  with  cruel 
mockery  of  justice,  for  no  witnesses  were  ever,  in 
this  court,  confronted  with  the  accused,  and  the 
latter  had  continually  to  defend  himself  in  the 
dark.  Some  unknown  and  powerful  enemy  had 
alleged  charges  against  the  unfortunate  alchemist, 
but  who  he  could  not  imagine.  Stranger  and  so- 
journer as  he  was  in  the  land,  solitary  and  harm- 
less in  his  pursuits,  how  could  he  have  provoked 
such  hostility  ? The  tide  of  secret  testimony,  how- 
ever, was  too  strong  against  him : he  was  con- 
victed of  the  crime  of  magic,  and  condemned  to 
expiate  his  sins  at  the  stake,  at  the  approaching 
auto  da  fe. 

While  the  unhappy  alchemist  was  undergoing 
his  trial  at  the  inquisition,  his  daughter  was  ex- 
posed to  trials  no  less  severe.  Don  Ambrosio, 
into  whose  hands  she  had  fallen,  was,  as  has  be- 
fore been  intimated,  one  of  the  most  daring  and 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 245 


lawless  profligates  in  all  Grenada.  He  was  a 
man  of  hot  blood  and  fiery  passions,  who  stopped 
at  nothing  in  the  gratification  of  his  desires ; yet 
with  all  this  he  possessed  manners,  address,  and 
accomplishments,  that  had  made  him  eminently 
successful  among  the  sex.  From  the  palace  to 
the  cottage  he  had  extended  his  amorous  enter* 
prises  ; his  serenades  harassed  the  slumbers  of 
half  the  husbands  in  Grenada  ; no  balcony  was 
too  high  for  his  adventurous  attempts  ; nor  any 
cottage  too  lowly  for  his  perfidious  seductions. 
Yet  he  was  as  fickle  as  he  was  ardent ; success 
had  made  him  vain  and  capricious ; he  had  no 
sentiment  to  attach  him  to  the  victim  of  his  arts ; 
and  many  a pale  cheek  and  fading  eye,  languish- 
ing amidst  the  sparkling  of  jewels,  and  many  a 
breaking  heart,  throbbing  under  the  rustic  bodice, 
bore  testimony  to  his  triumphs  and  his  faithless- 
ness. 

He  was  sated,  however,  by  easy  conquests,  and 
wearied  of  a life  of  continual  and  prompt  grati- 
fication. There  had  been  a degree  of  difficulty 
and  enterprise  in  the  pursuit  of  Inez,  that  he  had 
never  before  experienced.  It  had  aroused  him 
from  the  monotony  of  mere  sensual  life,  and  stim- 
ulated him  with  the.  charm  of  adventure.  He 
had  become  an  epicure  in  pleasure ; and  now  that 
he  had  this  coy  beauty  in  his  power,  he  was  deter- 
mined to  protract  his  enjoyment,  by  the  gradual 
conquest  of  her  scruples,  and  downfall  of  her  vir- 
tue. He  was  vain  of  his  person  and  address, 
which  he  thought  no  woman  could  long  withstand  ; 
and  it  was  a kind  of  trial  of  skill  to  endeavor  to 


246 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


gain  by  art  and  fascination  what  he  was  secure 
of  obtaining  at  any  time  by  violence. 

When  Inez,  therefore,  was  brought  to  his  pres- 
ence by  his  emissaries,  he  affected  not  to  notice 
her  terror  and  surprise,  but  received  her  with  for- 
mal and  stately  courtesy.  He  was  too  wary  a 
fowler  to  flutter  the  bird  when  just  entangled  in 
the  net.  To  her  eager  and  wild  inquiries  about 
her  father,  he  begged  her  not  to  be  alarmed  ; that 
he  was  safe,  and  had  been  there,  but  was  en- 
gaged elsewhere  in  an  affair  of  moment,  from 
which  he  would  soon  return  ; in  the  mean  time  he 
had  left  word  that  she  should  await  his  return  in 
patience.  After  some  stately  expressions  of  gen- 
eral civility,  Don  Ambrosio  made  a ceremonious 
bow,  and  retired. 

The  mind  of  Inez  was  full  of  trouble  and  per- 
plexity. The  stately  formality  of  Don  Ambro- 
sio was  so  unexpected  as  to  check  the  accusations 
and  reproaches  that  were  springing  to  her  lips. 
Had  he  had  evil  designs,  would  he  have  treated 
her  with  such  frigid  ceremony  when  he  had  her 
in  his  power  ? But  why,  then,  was  she  brought 
to  his  house?  Was  not  the  mysterious  disap- 
pearance of  Antonio  connected  with  this  ? A 
thought  suddenly  darted  into  her  mind.  Anto- 
nio had  again  met  with  Don  Ambrosio  — they 
had  fought  — Antonio  was  wounded  — perhaps 
dying  ! — It  was  him  to  whom  her  father  had 
gone.  It  was  at  his  request  that  Don  Ambro- 
sio had  sent  for  them  to  soothe  his  dying  moments ! 
These,  and  a thousand  such  horrible  suggestions 
harassed  her  mind ; but  she  tried  in  vain  to  get 


HIE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  247 


information  from  the  domestics ; they  knew  noth- 
ing but  that  her  father  had  been  there,  had  gone, 
and  would  soon  return. 

Thus  passed  a night  of  tumultuous  thought 
and  vague  yet  cruel  apprehensions.  She  knew 
not  what  to  do,  or  what  to  believe ; whether  she 
ought  to  fly,  or  to  remain ; but  if  to  fly,  how 
was  she  to  extricate  herself?  and  where  was  she 
to  seek  her  father  ? As  the  day  dawned  with- 
out any  intelligence  of  him,  her  alarm  increased ; 
at  length  a message  was  brought  from  him,  say- 
ing that  circumstances  prevented  his  return  to 
her,  but  begging  her  to  hasten  to  him  without 
delay. 

With  an  eager  and  throbbing  heart  did  she  set 
forth  with  the  men  that  were  to  conduct  her. 
She  little  thought,  however,  that  she  was  merely 
changing  her  prison-house.  Don  Ambrosio  had 
feared  lest  she  should  be  traced  to  his  residence  in 
Grenada ; or  that  he  might  be  interrupted  there 
before  he  could  accomplish  his  plan  of  seduction. 
He  had  her  now  conveyed,  therefore,  to  a man- 
sion which  he  possessed  in  one  of  the  mountain  sol- 
itudes in  the  neighborhood  of  Grenada  ; a lonely, 
but  beautiful  retreat.  In  vain,  on  her  arrival, 
did  she  look  around  for  her  father,  or  Antonio  ; 
none  but  strange  faces  met  her  eye  ; menials  pro- 
foundly respectful,  but  who  knew  nor  saw  any- 
thing but  what  their  master  pleased. 

She  had  scarcely  arrived  before  Don  Ambrosio 
made  his  appearance,  less  stately  in  his  manner, 
but  still  treating  her  with  the  utmost  delicacy  and 
deference.  Inez  was  too  much  agitated  and 


248 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


alarmed  to  be  baffled  by  his  courtesy,  and  be- 
came vehement  in  her  demand  to  be  conducted  to 
her  father. 

Don  Ambrosio  now  put  on  an  appearance  of 
the  greatest  embarrassment  and  emotion.  After 
some  delay,  and  much  pretended  confusion,  he  at 
length  confessed  that  the  seizure  of. her  father 
was  all  a stratagem ; a mere  false  alarm  to  pro- 
cure him  the  present  opportunity  of  having  ac- 
cess to  her,  and  endeavoring  to  mitigate  that  ob- 
duracy, and  conquer  that  repugnance,  which  he 
declared  had  almost  driven  him  to  distraction. 

He  assured  her  that  her  father  was  again  at 
home  in  safety,  and  occupied  in  his  usual  pursuits ; 
having  been  fully  satisfied  that  his  daughter  was 
in  honorable  hands,  and  would  soon  be  restored  to 
him.  In  vain  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and 
implored  to  be  set  at  liberty  ; he  only  replied  by 
gentle  entreaties,  that  she  would  pardon  the 
seeming  violence  he  had  to  use ; and  that  she 
would  trust  a little  while  to  his  honor.  “ You 
are  here,”  said  he,  “ absolute  mistress  of  every- 
thing : nothing  shall  be  said  or  done  to  offend 
you  ; I will  not  even  intrude  upon  your  ear  the 
unhappy  passion  that  is  devouring  my  heart. 
Should  you  require  it,  I will  even  absent  myself 
from  your  presence  ; but  to  part  with  you  en- 
tirely at  present,  with  your  mind  full  of  doubts 
and  resentments,  would  be  worse  than  death  to 
me.  No,  beautiful  Inez,  you  must  first  know  me 
a little  better,  and  know  my  conduct,  that  my  pas- 
sion for  you  is  as  delicate  and  respectful  as  it  i* 
vehement.” 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  249 


The  assurance  of  her  father’s  safety  had  re 
lieved  Inez  from  one  cause  of  torturing  anxiety, 
only  to  render  her  fears  more  violent  on  her  own 
account.  Don  Ambrosio,  however,  continued  to 
treat  her  with  artful  deference,  that  insensibly 
lulled  her  apprehensions.  It  is  true  she  found 
herself  a captive,  but  no  advantage  appeared  to  be 
taken  of  her  helplessness.  She  soothed  herself 
with  the  idea  that  a little  while  would  suffice  to 
convince  Don  Ambrosio  of  the  fallacy  of  his  hopes, 
and  that  he  would  be  induced  to  restore  her  to  her 
home.  Her  transports  of  terror  and  affliction,  there* 
fore,  subsided,  in  a few  days,  into  a passive,  yet 
anxious  melancholy,  with  which  she  awaited  the 
hoped-for  event. 

In  the  meanwhile  all  those  artifices  were  em- 
ployed that  are  calculated  to  charm  the  senses, 
ensnare  the  feelings,  and  dissolve  the  heart  into 
tenderness.  Don  Ambrosio  was  a master  of  the 
subtle  arts  of  seduction.  His  very  mansion 
breathed  an  enervating  atmosphere  of  languor 
and  delight.  It  was  here,  amidst  twilight  sa- 
loons and  dreamy  chambers,  buried  among  groves 
of  orange  and  myrtle,  that  he  shut  himself  up  at 
times  from  the  prying  world,  and  gave  free  scope 
to  the  gratification  of  his  pleasures. 

The  apartments  were  furnished  in  the  most 
sumptuous  and  voluptuous  manner ; the  silken 
couches  swelled  to  the  touch,  and  sank  in  downy 
softness  beneath  the  slightest  pressure.  The  paint- 
ings and  statues  all  told  some  classic  tale  of  love, 
managed,  however,  with  an  insidious  delicacy ; 
which,  while  it  banished  the  grossness  that  might 


25  0 


BliACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


disgust,  was  the  more  calculated  to  excite  the  im* 
agination.  There  the  blooming  Adonis  was  seen, 
not  breaking  away  to  pursue  the  boisterous  chase, 
but  crowned  with  flowers,  and  languishing  in  the 
embraces  of  celestial  beauty.  There  Acis  wooed 
his  Galatea  in  the  shade,  with  the  Sicilian  sea 
spreading  in  halcyon  serenity  before  them.  There 
were  depicted  groups  of  fauns  and  dryads,  fondly 
reclining  in  summer  bowers,  and  listening  to  the 
liquid  piping  of  the  reed ; or  the  wanton  satyrs 
surprising  some  wood-nymph  during  her  noontide 
slumber.  There,  too,  on  the  storied  tapestry, 
might  be  seen  the  chaste  Diana,  stealing,  in  the 
mystery  of  moonlight,  to  kiss  the  sleeping  En- 
dymion  ; while  Cupid  and  Psyche,  entwined  in 
immortal  marble,  breathed  on  each  other’s  lips 
the  early  kiss  of  love. 

The  ardent  rays  of  the  sun  were  excluded  from 
these  balmy  halls  ; soft  and  tender  music  from 
unseen  musicians  floated  around,  seeming  to  min- 
gle with  the  perfumes  exhaled  from  a thousand 
flowers.  At  night,  when  the  moon  shed  a fairy 
light  over  the  scene,  the  tender  serenade  would 
rise  from  among  the  bowers  of  the  garden,  in  which 
the  fine  voice  of  Don  Ambrosio  might  often  be 
distinguished  ; or  the  amorous  flute  would  be  heard 
along  the  mountain,  breathing  in  its  pensive  ca- 
dences the  very  soul  of  a lover’s  melancholy. 

Various  entertainments  were  also  devised  to 
dispel  her  loneliness  and  to  charm  away  the  idea 
of  confinement.  Groups  of  Andalusian  dancers 
performed,  in  the  splendid  saloorfs,  the  various 
picturesque  dances  of  their  country ; or  repre- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  251 


sented  little  amorous  ballets,  which  turned  upon 
some  pleasing  scene  of  pastoral  coquetry  and 
courtship.  Sometimes  there  were  bands  of  sing- 
ers, who,  to  the  romantic  guitar,  warbled  forth 
ditties  full  of  passion  and  tenderness. 

Thus  all  about  her  enticed  to  pleasure  and  vo~ 
luptuousness ; but  the  heart  of  Inez  turned  with 
distaste  from  this  idle  mockery.  The  tears  would 
rush  into  her  eyes  as  her  thoughts  reverted  from 
this  scene  of  profligate  splendor  to  the  humble 
but  virtuous  home  whence  she  had  been  be- 
trayed ; or  if  the  witching  power  of  music  ever 
soothed  her  into  a tender  reverie,  it  was  to  dwell 
with  fondness  on  the  image  of  Antonio.  But  if 
Don  Ambrosio,  deceived  by  this  transient  calm, 
should  attempt  at  such  time  to  whisper  his  pas- 
sion, she  would  start  as  from  a dream,  and  recoil 
from  him  with  involuntary  shuddering. 

She  had  passed  one  long  day  of  more  than  or- 
dinary sadness,  and  in  the  evening  a band  of  these 
hired  performers  were  exerting  all  the  animating 
powers  of  song  and  dance  to  amuse  her.  But 
while  the  lofty  saloon  resounded  with  their  war- 
nings, and  the  light  sound  of  feet  upon  its  marble 
pavement  kept  time  to  the  cadence  of  the  song, 
poor  Inez,  with  her  face  buried  in  the  silken 
couch  on  which  she  reclined,  was  only  rendered 
more  wretched  by  the  sound  of  gayety. 

At  length  her  attention  was  caught  by  the 
voice  of  one  of  the  singers,  that  brought  with  it 
Borne  indefinite  recollections.  She  raised  her 
bead,  and  cast  an  anxious  look  at  the  performers, 
who,  as  usual,  were  at  the  lower  end  of  the  sa 


252 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


loon.  One  of  them  advanced  a little  before  the 
others.  It  was  a female,  dressed  in  a fanciful 
pastoral  garb,  suited  to  the  character  she  was  sus- 
taining ; but  her  countenance  was  not  to  be  mis- 
taken. It  was  the  same  ballad-singer  that  had 
twice  crossed  her  path,  and  given  her  mysterious 
intimations  of  the  lurking  mischief  that  surround- 
ed her.  When  the  rest  of  the  performances  were 
concluded,  she  seized  a tambourine,  and  tossing 
it  aloft,  danced  alone  to  the  melody  of  her  own 
voice.  In  the  course  of  her  dancing  she  ap- 
proached to  where  Inez  reclined : and  as  she 
struck  the  tambourine,  contrived,  dexterously,  to 
throw  a folded  paper  on  the  couch.  Inez  seized 
it  with  avidity,  and  concealed  it  in  her  bosom. 
The  singing  and  dancing  were  at  an  end  ; the 
motley  crew  retired ; and  Inez,  left  alone,  hast- 
ened with  anxiety  to  unfold  the  paper  thus  mys- 
teriously conveyed.  It  was  written  in  an  agitated, 
and  almost  illegible,  handwriting : “ Be  on  your 

guard  ! you  are  surrounded  by  treachery.  Trust 
not  to  the  forbearance  of  Don  Ambrosio ; you  are 
marked  out  for  his  prey.  An  humble  victim  to 
his  perfidy  gives  you  this  warning ; she  is  encom- 
passed by  too  many  dangers  to  be  more  explicit. 
Your  father  is  in  the  dungeons  of  the  inquisition  ! ” 
The  brain  of  Inez  reeled  as  she  read  this 
dreadful  scroll.  She  was  less  filled  with  alarm  at 
her  own  danger,  than  horror  at  her  father’s  situa- 
tion. The  moment  Don  Ambrosio  appeared,  she 
rushed  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  imploring 
him  to  save  her  father.  Don  Ambrosio  started 
with  astonishment ; but  immediately  regaining  his 


TEE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 


253 


6elf-possession,  endeavored  to  soothe  her  by  his 
blandishments,  and  by  assurances  that  her  father 
was  in  safety.  She  was  not  to  be  pacified  ; her 
fears  were  too  much  aroused  to  be  trifled  with 
She  declared  her  knowledge  of  her  father’s  being 
a prisoner  of  the  inquisition,  and  reiterated  her 
frantic  supplications  that  he  would  save  him. 

Don  Ambrosio  paused  for  a moment  in  per- 
plexity, but  was  too  adroit  to  be  easily  con- 
founded. “ That  your  father  is  a prisoner,”  replied 
he,  £‘I  have  long  known.  I have  concealed  it  from 
you,  to  save  you  from  fruitless  anxiety.  You 
now  know  the  real  reason  of  the  restraint  I have 
put  upon  your  liberty  : I have  been  protecting 
instead  of  detaining  you.  Every  exertion  has 
been  made  in  your  father’s  favor ; but  I regret 
to  say,  the  proofs  of  the  offences  of  which  he 
stands  charged  have  been  too  strong  to  be  contro- 
verted. Still,”  added  he,  “I  have  it  in  my  power 
to  save  him ; I have  influence,  I have  means  at 
my  beck ; it  may  involve  me,  it  is  true,  in  diffi- 
culties, perhaps  in  disgrace  ; but  what  would  I not 
do  in  the  hopes  of  being  rewarded  by  your  favor  ? 
Speak,  beautiful  Inez,”  said  he,  his  eyes  kindling 
with  sudden  eagerness ; “ it  is  with  you  to  say 
the  word  that  seals  your  father’s  fate.  One  kind 
word  — say  but  you  will  be  mine,  and  ‘you  will 
behold  me  at  your  feet,  your  father  at  liberty  and 
in  affluence,  and  we  shall  all  be  happy ! ” 

Inez  drew  back  from  him  with  scorn  and  dis- 
belief. “ My  father,”  exclaimed  she,  “ is  too  in- 
nocent and  blameless  to  be  convicted  of  crime; 
this  is  some  base,  some  cruel  artifice  ! ” Don 


254 


DRACEBRIDGE  IIALL . 


Ambrosio  repeated  nis  asseverations,  and  with 
them  also  his  dishonorable  proposals ; but  his 
eagerness  overshot  its  mark  ; her  indignation  and 
her  incredulity  were  alike  awakened  by  his  base 
suggestions  ; and  he  retired  from  her  presence 
checked  and  awed  by  the  sudden  pride  and  dig- 
nity of  her  demeanor. 

The  unfortunate  Inez  now  became  a prey  to 
the  most  harrowing  anxieties.  Don  Ambrosio 
saw  that  the  mask  had  fallen  from  his  face,  and 
that  the  nature  of  his  machinations  was  revealed. 
He  had  gone  too  far  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  as- 
sume the  affectation  of  tenderness  and  respect ; 
indeed,  he  was  mortified  and  incensed  at  her  in- 
sensibility to  his  attractions,  and  now  only  sought 
to  subdue  her  through  her  fears.  He  daily  repre- 
sented to  her  the  dangers  that  threatened  her 
father,  and  that  it  was  in  his  power  alone  to  avert 
them.  Inez  was  still  incredulous.  She  was  too 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  inquisition  to  know 
that  even  innocence  was  not  always  a protection 
from  its  cruelties ; and  she  confided  too  surely  in 
the  virtue  of  her  father  to  believe  that  any  accu- 
sation could  prevail  against  him. 

At  length  Don  Ambrosio,  to  give  an  effectual 
blow  to  her  confidence,  brought  her  the  procla 
mation  of  the  approaching  auto  da  fe , in  which 
the  prisoners  were  enumerated.  She  glanced  her 
eye  over  it,  and  beheld  her  father’s  name,  con- 
demned to  the  stake  for  sorcery. 

For  a moment  she  stood  tiansfixed  with  hor 
ror.  Don  Ambrosio  seized  upon  the  transient 
calm.  “ Think  now,  beautiful  Inez,”  said  he, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  255 


with  a tone  of  affected  tenderness,  “ his  life  i? 
still  in  your  hands ; one  word  from  you,  one  kind 
word,  and  I can  yet  save  him.” 

u Monster  ! wretch  ! ” cried  she,  coming  to  her- 
self, and  recoiling  from  him  with  insuperable  ab- 
horrence : “ ’t  is  you  that  are  the  cause  of  this  — 
’t  is  you  that  are  his  murderer ! ” Then,  wing- 
ing her  hands,  she  broke  forth  into  exclamations 
of  the  most  frantic  agony. 

The  perfidious  Ambrosio  saw  the  torture  of  her 
soul,  and  anticipated  from  it  a triumph.  He 
saw  that  she  was  in  no  mood,  during  her  present 
paroxysm,  to  listen  to  his  words  ; but  he  trusted 
that  the  horrors  of  lonely  rumination  would  break 
down  her  spirit,  and  subdue  her  to  his  will.  In 
this,  however,  he  was  disappointed.  Many  were 
the  vicissitudes  of  mind  of  the  wretched  Inez  : one 
time  she  would  embrace  his  knees  with  piercing 
supplications ; at  another  she  would  shrink  with, 
nervous  horror  at  his  very  approach  ; but  any 
intimation  of  his  passion  only  excited  the  same 
emotion  of  loathing  and  detestation. 

At  length  the  fatal  day  drew  nigh.  “ To-mor- 
row,” said  Don  Ambrosio,  as  he  left  her  one  even- 
ing, — “ to-morrow  is  the  auto  da  fe.  To-morrow 
you  will  hear  the  sound  of  the  bell  that  tolls  your 
father  to  his  death.  You  will  almost  see  the 
smoke  th^t  rises  from  his  funeral-pile.  I leavo 
you  to  yourself.  It  is  yet  in  my  power  to  save 
him.  Think  whether  you  can  stand  to-morrow’s 
horrors  without  shrinking.  Think  whether  you 
can  endure  the  after-reflection,  that  you  were  the 
cause  of  his  death,  and  that  merely  through  a per- 
versity in  refusing  proffered  happiness.” 


256 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


What  a night  was  it  to  Inez  ! Her  heart,  al 
ready  harassed  and  almost  broken  by  repeated 
and  protracted  anxieties ; her  strength  wasted 
and  enfeebled.  On  every  side  horrors  awaited 
her : her  father’s  death,  her  own  dishonor : there 
seemed  no  escape  from  misery  or  perdition.  “ Is 
there  no  relief  from  man  — no  pity  in  heaven  ? ” 
exclaimed  she.  “ What  have  we  done  that  we 
should  be  thus  wretched  ? ” 

As  the  dawn  approached,  the  fever  of  her  mind 
arose  to  agony ; a thousand  times  did  she  try  the 
doors  and  windows  of  her  apartment,  in  the  des- 
perate hope  of  escaping.  Alas ! with  all  the 
splendor  of  her  prison,  it  was  too  faithfully  secured 
for  her  weak  hands  to  work  deliverance.  Like 
a poor  bird,  that  beats  its  wings  against  its  gilded 
cage,  until  it  sinks  panting  in  despair,  so  she 
threw  herself  on  the  floor  in  hopeless  anguish. 
Her  blood  grew  hot  in  her  veins,  her  tongue  was 
parched,  her  temples  throbbed  with  violence,  she 
gasped  rather  than  breathed  ; it  seemed  as  if  her 
brain  was  on  fire.  “ Blessed  Virgin  ! ’’  exclaimed 
she,  clasping  her  hands,  and  turning  up  her 
6trained  eyes,  “ look  down  with  pity,  and  support 
me  in  this  dreadful  hour  ! ” 

Just  as  the  day  began  to  dawn,  she  heard  a 
key  turn  softly  in  the  door  of  her  apartment. 
She  dreaded  lest  it  should  be  Don  Ambrosio : 
and  the  very  thought  of  him  gave  her  a sicken- 
ing pang.  It  was  a female,  clad  in  a rustic 
dress,  with  her  face  concealed  by  her  mantilla. 
She  stepped  silently  into  the  room,  looked  cau- 
tiously round,  and  then,  uncovering  her  face,  re- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  257 


sealed  the  well-known  features  of  the  ballad- 
singer.  Inez  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise, 
almost  of  joy.  The  unknown  started  back,  pressed 
her  finger  on  her  lips  enjoining  silence,  and  beck- 
oned her  to  follow.  She  hastily  wrapped  her- 
self in  her  veil,  and  obeyed.  They  passed  with 
quick  but  noiseless  steps  through  an  an  tech  am* 
ber,  across  a spacipus  hall,  and  along  a corridor ; 
all  was  silent ; the  household  was  yet  locked  in 
sleep.  They  came  to  the  door,  to  which  the  un 
known  applied  a key.  Inez’s  heart  misgave  her ; 
she  knew  not  but  some  new  treachery  was  men- 
acing her ; she  laid  her  cold  hand  on  the  stran- 
ger’s arm  : “ Whither  are  you  leading  me  ? ” said 
she.  “ To  liberty,”  replied  the  other  in  a whis- 
per. 

“ Do  you  know  the  passages  about  this  man- 
sion ? ” 

“ But  too  well ! ” replied  the  girl,  with  a mel- 
ancholy shake  of  the  head.  There  was  an  ex- 
pression of  sad  veracity  in  her  countenance  that 
was  not  to  be  distrusted.  The  door  opened  on  a 
small  terrace  which  was  overlooked  by  several 
windows  of  the  mansion. 

“ We  must  move  across  this  quickly,”  said  the 
girl,  “or  we  may  be  observed.” 

They  glided  over  it  as  if  scarce  touching  the 
ground.  A flight  of  steps  led  down  into  the  garden  ; 
a wicket  at  the  bottom  was  readily  unbolted ; 
they  passed  with  breathless  velocity  along  one  of 
the  alleys,  still  in  sight  of  the  mansion,  in  which, 
however,  no  person  appeared  to  be  stirring.  At 
length  they  came  to  a low  private  door  in  the 
17 


258 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  IIALL . 


wall,  partly  hidden  by  a fig-tree.  It  was  secured 
by  rusty  bolts,  that  refused  to  yield  to  their  fee- 
ble efforts. 

“ Holy  Virgin  ! ” exclaimed  the  stranger,  — 
“ what  is  to  be  done?  one  moment  more,  and  we 
may  be  discovered.” 

She  seized  a stone  that  lay  near  by  : a few 
blows,  and  the  bolts  flew  back;  the  door  grated 
harshly  as  they  opened  it,  and  the  next  moment 
they  found  themselves  in  a narrow  road. 

“ Now,”  said  the  stranger,  “ for  Grenada  as 
quickly  as  possible  ! The  nearer  we  approach 
it,  the  safer  we  shall  be  ; for  the  road  will  be 
more  frequented.” 

The  imminent  risk  they  ran  of  being  pursued 
and  taken  gave  supernatural  strength  to  their 
limbs  ; they  flew  rather  than  ran.  The  day  had 
dawned  ; the  crimson  streaks  on  the  edge  of  the 
horizon  gave  tokens  of  the  approaching  sunrise  ; 
already  the  light  clouds  that  floated  in  the  west- 
ern sky  were  tinged  with  gold  and  purple,  though 
the  broad  plain  of  the  Vega,  which  now  began  to 
open  upon  their  view,  was  covered  with  the  dark 
haze  of  the  morning.  As  yet  they  only  passed  a 
few  straggling  peasants  on  the  road,  who  could 
have  yielded  them  no  assistance  in  case  of  their 
being  overtaken.  They  continued  to  hurry  for- 
ward, and  had  gained  a considerable  distance, 
when  the  strength  of  Inez,  which  had  only  been 
sustained  by  the  fever  of  her  mind,  began  to  yield 
to  fatigue  : she  slackened  her  pace,  and  faltered. 

“ Alas  ! ” said  she,  “ my  limbs  fail  me!  f can 
go  no  farther  ! ” 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  259 


“ Bear  up,  bear  up,”  replied  her  companion 
eheeringly ; “ a little  farther,  and  we  shall  bs 
eafe:  look!  yonder  is  Grenada,  just  showing  it- 
self in  the  valley  below  us.  A little  farther,  and 
we  shall  come  to  the  main  road,  and  then  we 
shall  find  plenty  of  passengers  to  protect  us.” 

Inez,  encouraged,  made  fresh  efforts  to  get  for- 
ward, but  her  weary  limbs  were  unequal  to  the 
eagerness  of  her  mind ; her  mouth  and  throat 
were  parched  by  agony  and  terror : she  gasped 
for  breath,  and  leaned  for  support  against  a rock. 
“ It  is  all  in  vain ! ” exclaimed  she  ; “ I feel  as 
though  I should  faint.” 

“ Lean  on  me,”  said  the  other  ; “ let  us  get  in- 
to the  shelter  of  yon  thicket,  that  will  conceal  us 
from  view.  I hear  the  sound  of  water,  which 
will  refresh  you.” 

With  much  difficulty  they  reached  the  thicket, 
which  overhung  a small  mountain-stream,  just 
where  its  sparkling  waters  leaped  over  the  rock 
and  fell  into  a natural  basin.  Here  Inez  sank 
upon  the  ground  exhausted.  Her  companion 
brought  water  in  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and 
bathed  her  pallid  temples.  The  cooling  drops  re- 
vived her  ; she  was  enabled  to  get  to  the  margin 
of  the  stream,  and  drink  of  its  crystal  current ; 
then,  reclining  her  head  on  the  bosom  of  her  deliv- 
erer, she  was  first  enabled  to  murmur  forth  her 
heartfelt  gratitude. 

“ Alas  ! ” said  the  other,  “ I deserve  no  thanks  ; 
L deserve  not  the  good  opinion  you  express.  In 
me  you  behold  a victim  of  Don  Ambrosio’s  arts. 
In  early  years  he  seduced  me  from  the  cottage 


260 


BRA  CEBRIDG E HALL. 


of  my  parents  : look  ! at  the  foot  of  yonder  blue 
mountain  in  the  distance  lies  my  native  village  ; 
but  it  is  no  longer  a home  for  me.  Pie  lured  me 
thence  when  I was  too  young  for  reflection  ; he 
educated  me,  taught  me  various  accomplishments, 
made  me  sensible  to  love,  to  splendor,  to  refine- 
ment ; then,  having  grown  weary  of  me,  he  neg- 
lected me,  and  cast  me  upon  the  world.  Plap- 
pily,  the  accomplishments  he  taught  me  have  kept 
me  from  utter  want ; and  the  love  with  which 
he  inspired  me  has  kept  me  from  farther  degrada- 
tion. Yes  ! I confess  my  weakness  : all  his  per- 
fidy and  wrongs  cannot  efface  him  from  my  heart. 
I have  been  brought  up  to  love  him  ; I have  no 
other  idol : I know  him  to  be  base,  yet  I cannot 
help  adoring  him.  I am  content  to  mingle  among 
the  hireling  throng  that  administer  to  his  amuse- 
ments, that  I may  still  hover  about  him,  and  lin- 
ger in  those  halls  where  I once  reigned  mistress. 
What  merit,  then,  have  I in  assisting  your  escape  ? 
1 scarce  know  whether  I am  acting  from  sympa- 
thy and  a desire  to  rescue  another  victim  from 
his  power,  or  jealousy  and  an  eagerness  to  re- 
move too  powerful  a rival ! ” 

While  she  was  yet  speaking,  the  sun  rose  in 
all  its  splendor ; first  lighting  up  the  mountain 
summits,  then  stealing  down  height  by  height, 
until  its  rays  gilded  the  domes  and  towers  of  Gre- 
nada, which  they  could  partially  see  from  be- 
tween the  trees,  below  them.  Just  then  the 
heavy  tones  of  a bell  came  sounding  from  a dis- 
tance, echoing,  in  sullen  clang,  along  the  mountain. 
Tnez  turned  pale  at  the  sound.  She  knew  it  to 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  261 


be  the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral,  rung  at  sunrise 
on  the  day  of  the  auto  da  fe,  to  give  note  of  fu- 
neral preparation.  Every  stroke  beat  upon  her 
heart,  and  inflicted  an  absolute,  corporeal  pang. 
She  started  up  wildly.  “ Let  us  be  gone  ! ” cried 
she  ; “ there  is  not  a moment  for  delay  ! ” 

“ Stop ! ” exclaimed  the  other,  “ yonder  are 
horsemen  coming  over  the  brow  of  that  distant 
height ; if  I mistake  not,  Don  Ambrosio  is  at 
their  head.  — Alas  ! ’t  is  he  ; we  are  lost.  Hold ! ” 
continued  she ; “ give  me  your  scarf  and  veil ; 
wrap  yourself  in  this  mantilla.  I will  fly  up  yon 
footpath  that  leads  to  the  heights.  I tvill  let  the 
veil  flutter  as  I ascend  ; perhaps  they  may  mis- 
take me  for  you,  and  they  must  dismount  to  fol- 
low me.  Do  you  hasten  forward  : you  will  soon 
reach  the  main  road.  You  have  jewels  on  your 
fingers  : bribe  the  first  muleteer  you  meet  to  assist 
you  on  your  way.” 

All  this  was  said  with  hurried  and  breathless 
rapidity.  The  exchange  of  garments  was  made 
in  an  instant.  The  girl  darted  up  the  mountain- 
path,  her  white  veil  fluttering  among  the  dark 
shrubbery ; while  Inez,  inspired  with  new  strength, 
or  rather  new  terror,  flew  to  the  road,  and  trusted 
to  Providence  to  guide  her  tottering  steps  to  Gre- 
nada. 

All  Grenada  was  in  agitation  on  the  morning 
of  this  dismal  day.  The  heavy  bell  of  the  cathe- 
dral continued  to  utter  its  clanging  tones,  that 
pervaded  every  part  of  the  city,  summoning  all 
persons  to  the  tremendous  spectacle  about  to  be 
exhibited.  The  streets  through  which  the  proees 


262 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL. 


sion  was  to  pass  were  crowded  with  the  populace. 
The  windows,  the  roofs,  every  place  that  could 
admit  a face  or  a foothold,  was  alive  with  specta- 
tors. In  the  great  square  a spacious  scaffolding, 
like  an  amphitheatre,  was  erected,  where  the  sen- 
tences of  the  prisoners  were  to  be  read,  and  the 
sermon  of  faith  to  be  preached  ; and  close  by 
were  the  stakes  prepared,  where  the  condemned 
were  to  be  burnt  to  death.  Seats  were  arranged 
for  the  great,  the  gay,  the  beautiful ; for  such  is 
the  horrible  curiosity  of  human  nature,  that  this 
cruel  sacrifice  was  attended  with  more  eagerness 
than  a theatre,  or  even  a bull-feast. 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  scaffolds  and  bal- 
conies were  filled  with  expecting  multitudes;  the 
sun  shone  brightly  upon  fair  faces  and  gallant 
dresses ; one  would  have  thought  it  some  scene 
of  elegant  festivity,  instead  of  an  exhibition  of 
human  agony  and  death.  But  what  a different 
spectacle  and  ceremony  was  this  from  those  which 
Grenada  exhibited  in  the  days  of  her  Moorish 
splendor.  “ Her  galas,  her  tournaments,  her 
sports  of  the  ring,  her  fetes  of  St.  John,  her  music, 
her  Zambras,  and  admirable  tilts  of  canes  ! Her 
serenades,  her  concerts,  her  songs  in  Generaliffe ! 
The  costly  liveries  of  the  Abencerrages,  their  ex- 
quisite inventions,  the  skill  and  valor  of  the  Ala- 
baces,  the  superb  dresses  of  the  Zegries,  Mazas, 
and  Gomeles  ! ” # — All  these  were  at  an  end. 
The  days  of  chivalry  were  over.  Instead  of  the 
prancing  cavalcade,  with  neighing  steea  and  live- 
ly trumpet ; with  burnished  lance,  ana  helm,  and 
* Rodd’s  Civil  Wars  of  Grenada. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 263 


ouckler  ; with  rich  confusion  of  plume,  and  scarf, 
and  banner,  where  purple,  and  scarlet,  and  green, 
and  orange,  and  every  gay  color,  were  mingled 
with  cloth  of  gold  and  fair  embroidery  ; instead 
of  tins  crept  on  the  gloomy  pageant  of  supersti- 
tion. in  cowl  and  sackcloth  ; with  cross  and  coffin, 
and  frightful  symbols  of  human  suffering.  In 
place  of  the  frank,  hardy  knight,  open  and  brave, 
with  his  lady’s  favor  in  his  casque,  and  amorous 
motto  on  his  shield,  looking,  by  gallant  deeds,  to 
win  the  smile  of  beauty,  came  the  shaven,  un- 
manly monk,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  head  and 
heart  bleached  in  the  cold  cloister,  secretly  exult- 
ing in  this  bigot  triumph. 

The  sound  of  the  bells  gave  notice  that  the 
dismal  procession  was  advancin  \ It  passed 
slowly  through  the  principal  streets  of  the  city, 
bearing  in  advance  the  awful  banner  of  the  holy 
office.  The  prisoners  walked  singly,  attended  by 
confessors,  and  guarded  by  familiars  of  the  in- 
quisition. They  were  clad  in  different  garments 
according  to  the  nature  of  their  punishments  ; — 
those  who  were  to  suffer  death  wore  the  hideous 
Samarra,  painted  with  flames  and  demons.  The 
procession  was  swelled  by  choirs  of  boys,  differ- 
ent religious  orders,  and  public  dignitaries  ; and, 
above  all,  by  the  fathers  of  the  faith,  moving 
“ with  slow  pace,  and  profound  gravity,  truly  tri- 
umphing as  becomes  the  principal  generals  of  that 
^reat  victory.”* 

As  the  sacred  banner  of  the  inquisition  ad- 
vanced, the  countless  throng  sunk  on  their  knees 
* Gonsalvius  p.  135. 


264 


BRA  CEBU  ID  GE  HALL. 


before  it ; they  bowed  their  faces  to  the  ver}> 
earth  as  it  passed,  and  then  slowly  rose  again, 
like  a great  undulating  billow.  A murmur  of 
tongues  prevailed  as  the  prisoners  approached, 
and  eager  eyes  were  strained,  and  fingers  pointed, 
to  distinguish  the  different  orders  of  penitents, 
whose  habits  denoted  the  degree  of  punishment 
they  were  to  undergo.  But  as  those  drew  near 
whose  frightful  garb  marked  them  as  destined  to 
the  flames,  the  noise  of  the  rabble  subsided  ; they 
seemed  almost  to  hold  in  their  breaths  ; filled  with 
that  strange  and  dismal  interest  with  which  we 
contemplate  a human  being  on  the  verge  of  suf- 
fering and  death. 

It  is  an  awful  thing  — a voiceless,  noiseless 
multitude  1 The  hushed  and  gazing  stillness  of 
the  surrounding  thousands,  heaped  on  walls,  and 
gates,  and  roofs,  and  hanging,  as  it  were,  in  clus- 
ters, heightened  the  effect  of  the  pageant  that 
moved  drearily  on.  The  low  murmuring  of  the 
priests  could  now  be  heard  in  prayer  and  exhor- 
tation, with  the  faint  responses  of  the  prisoners, 
and  now  and  then  the  voices  of  the  choir  at  a dis- 
tance, chanting  the  litanies  of  the  saints. 

The  faces  of  the  prisoners  were  ghastly  and 
disconsolate.  Even  those  who  had  been  pardoned, 
and  wore  the  Sanbenito,  or  penitential  garment, 
bore  traces  of  the  horrors  they  had  undergone. 
Some  were  feeble  and  tottering  from  long  confine- 
ment ; some  ’crippled  and  distorted  by  various 
tortures  ; every  countenance  was  a dismal  page, 
on  which  might  be  read  the  secrets  of  their  pris- 
on-house. But  in  the  looks  of  those  condemned 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 265 


to  death  there  was  something  fierce  and  eager. 
They  seemed  men  harrowed  up  by  the  past,  and 
desperate  as  to  the  future.  They  were  antici- 
pating, with  spirits  fevered  by  despair,  and  fixed 
and  clenched  determination,  the  vehement  struggle 
with  agony  and  death  they  were  shortly  to  under- 
go. Some  cast  now  and  then  a wild  and  an- 
guished look  about  them  upon  the  shining  day ; 
the  “ sun-bright  palaces,”  the  gay,  the  beautiful 
world,  which  they  were  soon  to  quit  forever  ; 
or  a glance  of  sudden  indignation  at  the  throng- 
ing thousands,  happy  in  liberty  and  life,  who 
seemed,  in  contemplating  their  frightful  situation, 
to  exult  in  their  own  comparative  security. 

One  among  the  condemned,  however,  was  an 
exception  to  these  remarks.  It  was  an  aged  man, 
somewhat  bowed  down,  with  a serene,  though  de- 
jected countenance,  and  a beaming,  melancholy 
eye.  It  was  the  alchemist.  The  populace  looked 
upon  him  with  a degree  of  compassion,  which 
they  were  not  prone  to  feel  towards  criminals 
condemned  by  the  inquisition ; but  when  they 
were  told  that  he  was  convicted  of  the  crime  of 
magic,  they  drew  back  with  awe  and  abhorrence. 

The  procession  had  reached  the  grand  square. 
The  first  part  had  already  mounted  the  scaffold- 
ing, and  the  condemned  were  approaching.  The 
press  of  the  populace  became  excessive,  and  was 
repelled,  as  it  were,  in  billows  by  the  guards. 
Just  as  the  condemned  were  entering  the  square, 
a shrieking  was  heard  among  the  crowd.  A fe- 
male, pale,  frantic,  dishevelled,  was  seen  struggling 
through  the  multitude.  u My  father  ! my  father  ! 9j 


266 


BRA  CEBRIDGK  BALL 


was  all  the  cry  slie  uttered,  but  it  thrilled  through 
every  heart.  The  crowd  instinctively  drew  back, 
and  made  way  for  her  as  she  advanced. 

The  poor  alchemist  had  made  his  peace  with 
Heaven,  and,  by  hard  struggle,  had  closed  his 
heart  upon  the  world,  when  the  voice  of  his  child 
called  him  once  more  back  to  worldly  thought 
and  agony.  He  turned  towards  the  well-known 
voice  ; his  knees  smote  together  ; he  endeavored 
to  reach  forth  his  pinioned  arms,  and  felt  himself 
clasped  in  the  embraces  of  his  child.  The  emo- 
tions of  both  were  too  agonizing  for  utterance. 
Convulsive  sobs,  and  broken  exclamations,  and 
embraces  more  of  anguish  than  tenderness,  were 
all  that  passed  between  them.  The  procession 
was  interrupted  for  a moment.  The  astonished 
monks  and  familiars  were  filled  with  involuntary 
respect  at  this  agony  of  natural  affection.  Ejacu- 
lations of  pity  broke  from  the  crowd,  touched  by 
the  filial  piety,  the  extraordinary  and  hopeless 
anguish  of  so  young  and  beautiful  a being. 

Every  attempt  to  soothe  her,  and  prevail  on 
her  to  retire,  was  unheeded ; at  length  they  en- 
deavored to  separate  her  from  her  father  by  force. 
The  movement  roused  her  from  her  temporary 
abandonment.  With  a sudden  paroxysm  of  fury, 
she  snatched  a sword  from  one  of  the  familiars. 
Her  late  pale  countenance  was  flushed  with  rage, 
and  fire  flashed  from  her  once  soft  and  languish- 
ing eyes.  The  guards  shrunk  back  with  awe. 
There  was  something  in  this  filial  frenzy,  this 
feminine  tenderness  wrought  up  to  desperation, 
that*  touched  even  their  hardened  hearts.  Tliev 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA . 267 


endeavored  to  pacify  her,  but  in  vain.  Her  eye 
was  eager  and  quick  as  the  she-wolf’s  guarding 
her  young.  With  one  arm  she  pressed  her 
father  to  her  bosom,  with  the  other  she  menaced 
every  one  that  approached. 

The  patience  of  the  guards  was  soon  ex- 
hausted. They  had  held  back  in  awe,  but  not  in 
fear.  With  all  her  desperation  the  weapon  was 
soon  wrested  from  her  feeble  hand,  and  she  was 
borne  shrieking  and  struggling  among  the  crowd. 
The  rabble  murmured  compassion  ; but  such  was 
the  dread  inspired  by  the  inquisition,  that  no  one 
attempted  to  interfere. 

The  procession  again  resumed  its  march.  Inez 
was  ineffectually  struggling  to  release  herself 
from  the  hands  of  the  familiars  that  detained  her, 
when  suddenly  she  saw  Don  Ambrosio  before  her. 
“ Wretched  girl ! ” exclaimed  he  with  fury,  “ why 
have  you  fled  from  your  friends  ? Deliver  her,” 
said  he  to  the  familiars,  “ to  my  domestics  ; she 
is  under  my  protection.” 

His  creatures  advanced  to  seize  her.  “ Oh  no ! 
oh  no ! ” cried  she,  with  new  terrors,  and  clinging 
to  the  familiars,  “I  have  fled  from  no  friends. 
He  is  not  my  protector ! He  is  the  murderer  of 
my  father ! ” 

The  familiars  were  perplexed  ; the  crowd 
pressed  on  with  eager  curiosity.  “ Stand  off ! ” 
cried  the  fiery  Ambrosio,  dashing  the  throng 
from  around  him.  Then  turning  to  the  familiars, 
with  sudden  moderation,  “ My  friends,”  said  he, 
‘ deliver  this  poor  girl  to  me.  Her  distress  has 
iurned  her  brain ; she  has  escaped  from  her 


268 


bracebridge  hall. 


friends  and  protectors  this  morning  ; but  a little 
quiet  and  kind  treatment  will  restore  her  to  tran- 
quillity.” 

“ I am  not  mad  ! I am  not  mad  ! ” cried  she, 
vehemently.  “ Oh,  save  me  ! — save  me  from 
these  men  ! I have  no  protector  on  earth  but 
my  father,  and  him  they  are  murdering ! ” 

The  familiars  shook  their  heads ; her  wildness 
corroborated  the  assertions  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and 
his  apparent  rank  commanded  respect  and  belief. 
They  relinquished  their  charge  to  him,  and  he  was 
consigning  the  struggling  Inez  to  his  creatures  — 

“ Let  go  your  hold,  villain  ! ” cried  a voice 
from  among  the  crowd,  and  Antonio  was  seen 
eagerly  tearing  his  way  through  the  press  of 
people. 

“ Seize  him  ! seize  him  ! ” cried  Don  Ambrosk 
to  the  familiars  ; “ ’t  is  an  accomplice  of  the  sor- 
cerer’s.” 

66  Liar  ! ” retorted  Antonio,  as  he  thrust  the 
mob  to  the  right  and  left,  and  forced  himself  to 
the  spot. 

The  sword  of  Don  Ambrosio  flashed  in  an  in- 
stant from  the  scabbard ; the  student  was  armed, 
and  equally  alert.  There  was  a fierce  clash  of 
weapons;  the  crowd  made  way  for  them  as  they 
fought,  and  closed  again,  so  as  to  hide  them  from 
the  view  of  Inez.  All  was  tumult  and  confusion 
for  a moment ; when  the^e  was  a kind  of  shout 
from  the  spectators,  and  the  mob  again  opening, 
6he  beheld,  as  she  thought,  Antonio  weltering  in 
his  blood. 

This  new  shock  was  too  great  for  her  already 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  260 


overstrained  intellects.  A giddiness  seized  upon 
her ; everything  seemed  to  whirl  before  her 
eyes ; she  gasped  some  incoherent  words,  and 
sunk  senseless  upon  the  ground. 

Days,  weeks,  elapsed  before  Inez  returned  to 
consciousness.  At  length  she  opened  her  eyes,  as 
if  out  of  a troubled  sleep.  She  was  lying  upon 
a magnificent  bed,  in  a chamber  richly  furnished 
with  pier-glasses  and  massive  tables  inlaid  with 
silver,  of  exquisite  workmanship.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  tapestry  ; the  cornices  richly 
gilded : through  the  door,  which  stood  open,  she 
perceived  a superb  saloon,  with  statues  and  crys- 
tal lustres,  and  a magnificent  suit  of  apartments 
beyond.  The  casements  of  the  room  were  open 
to  admit  the  soft  breath  of  summer,  which  stole 
in,  laden  with  perfumes  from  a neighboring  gar- 
den ; whence,  also,  the  refreshing  sound  of  foun- 
tains and  the  sweet  notes  of  birds  came  in  min- 
gled music  to  her  ear. 

Female  attendants  were  moving,  with  noiseless 
step,  about  the  chamber ; but  she  feared  to  ad- 
dress them.  She  doubted  whether  this  were  not 
all  delusion,  or  whether  she  was  not  still  in  the 
palace  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and  that  her  escape,  and 
all  its  circumstances,  had  not  been  but  a feverish 
dream.  She  closed  her  eyes  again,  endeavoring 
to  recall  the  past,  and  to  separate  the  real  from 
the  imaginary.  The  last  scenes  of  consciousness, 
however,  rushed  too  forcibly,  with  all  their  hor- 
rors, to  her  mind  to  be  doubted,  and  she  turned 
shuddering  from  the  recollection,  to  gaze  once 
more  on  the  quiet  and  serene  magnificence  around 


270 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


her.  As  she  again  opened  her  eyes,  they  rested 
on  an  object  that  at  once  dispelled  every  alarai. 
At  the  head  of  her  bed  sat  a venerable  form 
watching  over  her  with  a look  of  fond  anxiety,  — 
it  was  her  father  ! 

I will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that 
ensued ; nor  the  moments  of  rapture  which  more 
than  repaid  all  the  sufferings  her  affectionate 
heart  had  undergone.  As  soon  as  their  feelings 
had  become  more  calm,  the  alchemist  stepped  out 
of  the  room  to  introduce  a stranger,  to  whom  he 
was  indebted  for  his  life  and  liberty.  He  re- 
turned, leading  in  Antonio,  no  longer  in  his  poor 
scholar’s  garb,  but  in  the  rich  dress  of  a noble- 
man. 

The  feelings  of  Inez  were  almost  overpowered 
by  these  sudden  reverses,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  she  was  sufficiently  composed  to  compre- 
hend the  explanation  of  this  seeming  romance. 

It  appeared  that  the  lover,  who  had  sought  her 
affections  in  the  lowly  guise  of  a student,  was 
only  son  and  heir  of  a powerful  grandee  of 
Valencia.  He  had  been  placed  at  the  university 
of  Salamanca ; but  a lively  curiosity,  and  an 
eagerness  for  adventure,  had  induced  him  to  aban- 
don the  university,  without  his  father’s  consent,  and 
to  visit  various  parts  of  Spain.  His  rambling  in- 
clination satisfied,  he  had  remained  incognito  for 
a time  at  Grenada,  until,  by  farther  study  and 
self-regulation,  he  could  prepare  himself  to  return 
home  with  credit,  and  atone  for  his  transgressions 
against  paternal  authority. 

How  hard  he  had  studied  does  not  remain  on 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  271 


record.  All  that  we  know  is  his  romantic  adven- 
ture of  the  tower.  It  was  at  first  a mere  youth- 
ful caprice,  excited  by  a glimpse  of  a beautiful 
face.  In  becoming  a disciple  of  the  alchemist, 
he  probably  thought  of  nothing  more  than  pur- 
suing a light  love-affair.  Farther  acquaintance, 
however,  had  completely  fixed  his  affections ; and 
he  had  determined  to  conduct  Inez  and  her  fa- 
ther to  Valencia,  and  trust  to  her  merits  to  se- 
cure his  father’s  consent  to  their  union. 

In  the  mean  time  he  had  been  traced  to  his  con- 
cealment. His  father  had  received  intelligence 
of  his  being  entangled  in  the  snares  of  a myste- 
rious adventurer  and  his  daughter,  and  likely  to 
become  the  dupe  of  the  fascinations  of  the  latter. 
Trusty  emissaries  had  been  dispatched  to  seize 
upon  him  by  main  force,  and  convey  him  without 
delay  to  the  paternal  home. 

What  eloquence  he  had  used  with  his  father  to 
convince  him  of  the  innocence,  the  honor,  and 
the  high  descent  of  the  alchemist,  and  of  the  ex- 
alted worth  of  his  daughter,  does  not  appear. 
All  that  we  know  is,  that  the  father,  though  a 
very  passionate,  was  a very  reasonable  man,  as 
•appears  by  his  consenting  that  his  son  should  re- 
lurn  to  Grenada,  and  conduct  Inez,  as  his  affi- 
anced bride,  to  Valencia. 

Away,  then,  Don  Antonio  hurried  back,  full 
of  joyous  anticipations.  He  still  forbore  to  throw 
off  his  disguise,  fondly  picturing  to  himself  whai 
would  be  the  surprise  of  Inez,  when,  having  won 
her  heart  and  hand  as  a poor  wandering  scholar, 
he  should  raise  her  and  her  father  at  once  to  opu 
lence  and  splendor. 


*72 


BRACEBRIDGju  hall. 


On  his  arrival  he  had  been  shocked  at  finding 
the  tower  deserted  of  its  inhabitants.  In  vain  he 
sought  for  intelligence  concerning  them ; a mys- 
tery hung  over  their  disappearance  which  he 
could  not  penetrate,  until  he  was  thunderstruck, 
on  accidentally  reading  a list  of  the  prisoners  at 
the  impending  auto  da  fe,  to  find  the  name  of  his 
venerable  master  among  the  condemned. 

It  was  the  very  morning  of  the  execution.  The 
procession  was  already  on  its  way  to  the  grand 
square.  Not  a moment  was  to  be  lost.  The 
grand  inquisitor  was  a relation  of  Don  Antonio, 
tltough  they  had  never  met.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  make  himself  known ; to  exert  all  his  family 
influence,  the  weight  of  his  name,  and  the  power 
of  his  eloquence,  in  vindication  of  the  alchemist. 
But  the  grand  inquisitor  was  already  proceeding, 
m all  his  pomp,  to  the  place  where  the  fatal  cere- 
Kiony  was  to  be  performed.  How  was  he  to  be 
approached  ? Antonio  threw  himself  .into  the 
crowd,  in  a fever  of  anxiety,  and  was  forcing 
his  way  to  the  scene  of  horror,  where  he  arrived 
just  in  time  to  rescue  Inez,  as  has  been  men- 
tioned. 

It  was  Don  Ambrosio  that  fell  in  the  contest. 
Being  desperately  wounded,  and  thinking  his  end 
approaching,  he  had  confessed,  to  an  attending 
father  of  the  inquisition,  that  he  was  the  sole 
cause  of  the  alchemist’s  condemnation,  and  that 
the  evidence  on  which  it  was  grounded  was  al 
together  false.  The  testimony  of  Don  Antoni 
came  in  corroboration  of  this  avowal ; and  his 
relationship  to  the  grand  inquisitor  had,  in  ah 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  273 


probability,  its  proper  weight.  Thus  was  the 
poor  alchemist  snatched,  in  a manner,  from  the 
very  flames ; and  so  great  had  been  the  sympathy 
awakened  in  his  case,  that  for  once  a populace 
rejoiced  at  being  disappointed  of  an  execution. 

The  residue  of  the  story  may  readily  be  imag- 
ined by  every  one  versed  in  this  valuable  kind  of 
history.  Don  Antonio  espoused  the  lovely  Inez, 
and  took  her  and  her  father  with  him  to  Valencia. 
As  she  had  been  a loving  and  dutiful  daughter,  so 
she  proved  a true  and  tender  wife.  It  was  not 
long  before  Don  Antonio  succeeded  to  his  father’s 
titles  and  estates,  and  he  and  his  fair  spouse  were 
renowned  for  being  the  handsomest  and  happiest 
couple  in  all  Valencia. 

As  to  Don  Ambrosio,  he  partially  recovered  to 
the  enjoyment  of  a broken  constitution  and  a 
blasted  name,  and  hid  his  remorse  and  disgraces 
in  a convent ; while  the  poor  victim  of  his  arts, 
who  had  assisted  Inez  in  her  escape,  unable  to 
conquer  the  early  passion  that  he  had  awakened 
in  her  bosom,  though  convinced  of  the  baseness 
of  the  object,  retired  from  the  world,  and  became 
a humble  sister  in  a nunnery. 

The  worthy  alchemist  took  up  his  abode  with 
his  children.  A pavilion,  in  the  garden  of  their 
palace,  was  assigned  to  him  as  a laboratory,  where 
he  resumed  his  researches,  with  renovated  ardor, 
after  the  grand  secret.  He  was  now  and  then 
assisted  by  his  son-in-law ; but  the  latter  slack 
ened  grievously  in  his  zeal  and  diligence  after 
marriage.  Still  he  would  listen  with  profound 
gravity  and  attention  to  the  old  man’s  rhapsodies, 
18 


274 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


and  his  quotations  from  Paracelsus,  Sandivogius, 
and  Pietro  D’ Abano,  which  daily  grew  longer  and 
longer.  In  this  way  the  good  alchemist  lived  on 
quietly  and  comfortably,  to  what  is  called  a good 
old  age,  that  is  to  say,  an  age  that  is  good  for 
nothing,  and,  unfortunately  for  mankind,  was  hur- 
ried out  of  life  in  his  ninetieth  year,  just  as  he 
was  on  the  point  of  discovering  the  philosopher’s 
stone. 

Such  was  the  story  of  the  captain’s  friend,  with 
which  we  whiled  away  the  morning.  The  cap- 
tain was,  every  now  and  then,  interrupted  by 
questions  and  remarks,  which  I have  not  men- 
tioned, lest  I should  break  the  continuity  of  the 
tale.  He  was  a little  disturbed,  also,  once  or 
twice,  by  the  general,  who  fell  asleep,  and 
breathed  rather  hard,  to  the  great  horror  and 
annoyance  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  In  a long  and 
tender  love-scene,  also,  which  was  particularly  to 
her  ladyship’s  taste,  the  unlucky  general,  having 
his  head  a little  sunk  upon  his  breast,  kept  mak- 
ing a sound  at  regular  intervals,  very  much  like 
the  word  pish , long  drawn  out.  At  length  he 
made  an  odd,  abrupt,  guttural  sound,  that  sud- 
denly awoke  him ; he  hemmed,  looked  about  with 
a slight  degree  of  consternation,  and  then  began 
to  play  with  her  ladyship’s  work-bag,  which,  how- 
ever, she  rather  pettishly  withdrew.  The  steady 
sound  of  the  captain’s  voice  was  still  too  potent  a 
soporific  for  the  poor  general ; he  kept  gleaming 
up  and  sinking  in  the  socket,  until  the  cessation 
of  the  tale  again  roused  him,  when  he  started 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  275 


awake,  put  kis  foot  down  upon  Lady  Lillyeraft’s 
cur,  the  sleeping  Beauty,  which  yelped,  seized 
him  by  the  leg,  and  in  a moment  the  whole  li- 
brary resounded  with  yelpings  and  exclamations. 
Never  did  a man  more  completely  mar  his  for- 
tunes while  he  was  asleep.  Silence  being  at 
length  restored,  the  company  expressed  their 
thanks  to  the  captain,  and  gave  various  opinions 
of  the  story.  The  parson’s  mind,  I found,  had 
been  continually  running  upon  the  leaden  manu* 
scripts,  mentioned  in  the  beginning,  as  dug  up  at 
Grenada,  and  he  put  several  eager  questions  to 
the  captain  on  the  subject.  The  general  could 
not  well  make  out  the  drift  of  the  story,  but 
thought  it  a little  confused.  “ I am  glad,  how- 
ever,” said  he,  “ that  they  burnt  the  old  chap  in 
the  tower ; I have  no  doubt  he  was  a notorious 
impostor.” 


ENGLISH  COUNTEY  GENTLEMEN. 


His  certain  life  that  never  can  deceive  him, 

Is  full  of  thousand  sweets,  and  rich  content : 

The  smooth-leaved  beeches  in  the  field  receive  him 
With  coolest  shade,  till  noontide’s  heat  be  spent. 

His  life  is  neither  tost  in  boisterous  seas 
Or  the  vexatious  world ; or  lost  in  slothful  ease. 

Pleased  and  full  blest  he  lives  when  he  his  God  can  please. 

Phineas  Fletcheb. 


TAKE  great  pleasure  in  accompanying 
ira  pS!  Squire  perambulations  about 

bis  estate,  in  which  he  is  often  attended 
by  a kind  of  cabinet  council.  His  prime  minis- 
ter, the  steward,  is  a very  worthy  and  honest  old 
man,  who  assumes  a right  of  way  ; that  is  to  say, 
a right  to  have  his  own  way,  from  having  lived 
time  out  of  mind  on  the  place.  He  loves  the  es- 
tate even  better  than  he  does  the  Squire  ; and 
thwarts  the  latter  sadly  in  many  of  his  projects 
of  improvement,  being  a little  prone  to  disapprove 
of  every  plan  that  does  not  originate  with  him- 
self. 

In  the  course  of  one  of  these  perambulations, 
I have  knoWn  the  Squire  to  point  out  some  im- 
portant alteration  which  he  was  contemplating,  in 
the  disposition  or  cultivation  of  the  grounds  ; this 
of  course  would  be  opposed  by  the  steward,  and 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN . 277 


a long  argument  would  ensue  over  a stile,  or  on 
a rising  piece  of  ground,  until  the  Squire,  who 
had  a high  opinion  of  the  other’s  ability  and  in- 
tegrity, would  be  fain  to  give  up  the  point.  This 
concession,  I observed,  would  immediately  mollify 
(he  old  man,  and,  after  walking  over  a field  or 
two  in  silence,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
chewing  the  cud  of  reflection,  he  would  suddenly 
turn  to  the  Squire,  and  observe,  that  “he  had 
been  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  and, 
upon  the  whole,  he  believed  he  would  take  his 
honor’s  advice.”  # 

Christy,  the  huntsman,  is  another  of  the 
Squire’s  occasional  attendants,  to  whom  he  con- 
tinually refers  in  all  matters  of  local  history,  as 
to  a chronicle  of  the  estate,  having,  in  a manner, 
been  acquainted  with  many  of  the  trees  from  the 
very  time  that  they  were  acorns.  Old  Nimrod, 
as  has  been  shown,  is  rather  pragmatical  in  those 
points  of  knowledge  on  which  he  values  himself ; 
but  the  Squire  rarely  contradicts  him,  and  is,  in 
fact,  one  of  the  most  indulgent  potentates  that 
was  ever  hen-pecked  by  his  ministry. 

He  often  laughs  about  it  himself,  and  evidently 
yields  to  these  old  men'  more  from  the  bent  of 
his  own  humor  than  from  any  want  of  proper 

* The  reader  who  lias  perused  a little  work  published  by 
the  author  several  years  subsequently  to  Bracebridge  Hall, 
uarrating  a visit  to  Abbotsford,  will  detect  the  origin  of  the 
above  anecdote  in  the  conferences  between  Sir  Walter  Scott 
and  his  right-hand  man,  Tommy  Purdie.  Indeed,  the  author 
is  indebted  for  several  of  his  traits  of  the  Squire  to  observa- 
tions made  on  Sir  Walter  Scott  during  that  visit;  though  he 
had  to  be  cautious  and  sparing  in  drawing  from  that  source. 


278 


BKACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


authority.  He  likes  this  honest  independence  of 
old  age,  and  is  well  aware  that  these  trusty  fol- 
lowers love  and  honor  him  in  their  hearts.  He 
is  perfectly  at  ease  about  his  own  dignity  and  the 
respect  of  those  around  him ; nothing  disgusts 
him  sooner  than  any  appearance  of  fawning  or 
sycophancy. 

I really  have  seen  no  display  of  royal  state 
that  could  compare  with  one  of  the  Squire’s  prog- 
resses about  his  paternal  fields  and  through  his 
hereditary  woodlands,  with  several  of  these  faith- 
ful adherents  about  him,  and  followed  by  a body- 
guard of  dogs.  He  encourages  a frankness  and 
manliness  of  deportment  among  his  dependents, 
and  is  the  personal  friend  of  liis  tenants ; inquir- 
ing into  their  concerns,  and  assisting  them  in  times 
of  difficulty  and  hardship.  This  has  rendered 
him  one  of  the  most  popular,  and  of  course  one 
of  the  happiest  of  landlords. 

Indeed,  I do  not  know  a more  enviable  condi- 
tion of  life  than  that  of  an  English  gentleman, 
of  sound  judgment  and  good  feelings,  who  passes 
the  greater  part  of  his  time  on  an  hereditary  es- 
tate in  the  country.  From  the  excellence  of  the 
roads  and  the  rapidity  and  exactness  of  public 
conveyances,  he  is  enabled  to  command  all  the 
comforts  and  conveniences,  all  the  intelligence 
and  novelties  of  the  capital,  while  he  is  removed 
from  its  hurry  and  distraction.  He  has  ample 
means  of  occupation  and  amusement  within  his 
own  domains ; he  may  diversify  his  time  by  rural 
occupations,  by  rural  sports,  by  study,  and  by  the 
delights  of  friendly  society  collected  within  bis 
own  hospitable  halls. 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN.  279 


Or  if  his  views  and  feelings  are  of  a more  ex- 
tensive and  liberal  nature,  he  has  it  greatly  in  his 
power  to  do  good,  and  to  have  that  good  immedi- 
ately reflected  back  upon  himself.  He  can  render 
essential  services  to  his  country  by  assisting  in 
the  disinterested  administration  of  the  laws ; by 
watching  over  the  opinions  and  principles  of  the 
lower  orders  around  him ; by  diffusing  among 
them  those  lights  important  to  their  welfare ; by 
mingling  frankly  among  them,  gaining  their  con- 
fidence, becoming  the  immediate  auditor  of  their 
complaints,  informing  himself  of  their  wants,  mak- 
ing himself  a channel  through  which  their  griev 
ances  may  be  quietly  communicated  to  the  proper 
sources  of  mitigation  and  relief ; or  by  becoming, 
if  need  be,  the  intrepid  and  incorruptible  guardian 
of  their  liberties  — the  enlightened  champion  of 
their  rights. 

All  this  can  be  done  without  any  sacrifice  of 
personal  dignity,  without  any  degrading  arts  of 
popularity,  without  any  truckling  to  vulgar  preju- 
dices or  concurrence  in  vulgar  clamor;  but  by 
the  steady  influence  of  sincere  and  friendly  coun- 
sel, of  fair,  upright  and  generous  deportment. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  English  mobs  and 
English  demagogues,  I have  never  met  with 
a people  more  open  to  reason,  more  considerate 
in  their  tempers,  more  tractable  by  argument  in 
the  roughest  times,  than  the  English.  They  are 
remarkably  quick  at  discerning  and  appreciating 
whatever  is  manly  and  honorable.  They  are 
by  nature  and  habit  methodical  and  orderly  ; and 
they  feel  the  value  of  all  that  is  regular  and  re- 


280 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


spectable.  They  may  occasionally  be  deceived 
by  sophistry,  and  excited  into  turbulence  by  pub- 
lic distresses  and  the  misrepresentations  of  de- 
signing men  ; but  open  their  eyes,  and  they  will 
eventually  rally  round  the  landmarks  of  steady 
truth  and  deliberate  good  sense.  They  are  fond 
of  established  customs  and  long-established  names ; 
and  that  love  of  order  and  quiet  which  character- 
izes the  nation  gives  a vast  influence  to  the  de- 
scendants of  the  old  families,  whose  forefathers 
have  been  lords  of  the  soil  from  time  immemo- 
rial. 

It  is  when  the  rich  and  well-educated  and 
highly-privileged  classes  neglect  their  duties,  when 
they  neglect  to  study  the  interests,  and  conciliate 
the  affections,  and  instruct  the  opinions  and 
champion  the  rights  of  the  people,  that  the  latter 
become  discontented  and  turbulent,  and  fall  into 
the  hands  of  demagogues : the  demagogue  al- 
ways steps  in  where  the  patriot  is  wanting. 
There  is  a common  high-handed  cant  among  the 
high-feeding,  and,  as  they  fancy  themselves,  high- 
minded  men,  about  putting  down  the  mob  ; but 
all  true  physicians  know  that  it  is  better  to 
sweeten  the  blood  than  attack  the  tumor,  to  ap- 
ply the  emollient  rather  than  the  cautery.  It  is 
absurd  in  a country  like  England,  where  there  is 
so  much  freedom  and  such  a jealousy  of  right,  for 
any  man  to  assume  an  aristocratical  tone,  and 
talk  superciliously  of  the  common  people.  There 
is  no  rank  that  makes  him  independent  of  the 
opinions  and  affections  of  his  fellow-men,  there  is 
oo  rank  nor  distinction  that  severs  him  from  his 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN.  281 


fellow-subjects  ; and  if,  by  any  gradual  neglect  or 
assumption  on  the  one  side,  and  discontent  and 
jealousy  on  the  other,  the  orders  of  society 
should  really  separate,  let  those  who  stand  on  the 
eminence  beware  that  the  chasm  is  not  mining  at 
their  feet.  The  orders  of  society  in  all  well-con- 
stituted governments  are  mutually  bound  to- 
gether, and  important  to  each  other;  there  can 
be  no  such  thing  in  a free  government  as  a vac- 
uum ; and  whenever  one  is  likely  to  take  place, 
by  the  drawing  off  of  the  rich  and  intelligent 
from  the  poor,  the  bad  passions  of  society  will 
rush  in  to  fill  up  the  space,  and  rend  the  whole 
asunder. 

Though  born  and  brought  up  in  a republic,  and 
more  and  more  confirmed  in  republican  principles 
by  every  year's  observation  and  experience,  I am 
not  insensible  to  the  excellence  that  may  exist  in 
other  forms  of  government ; nor  to  the  fact  that 
they  may  be  more  suitable  to  the  situation  and 
circumstances  of  the  countries  in  which  they  ex- 
ist ; I have  endeavored  rather  to  look  at  them  as 
they  are,  and  to  observe  how  they  are  calculated 
to  effect  the  end  which  they  propose.  Consider- 
ing, therefore,  the  mixed  nature  of  the  government 
of  this  country,  and  its  representative  form,  I 
have  looked  with  admiration  at  the  manner  in 
which  the  wealth  and  influence  and  intelligence 
were  spread  over  its  whole  surface,  — not,  as  in 
some  monarchies,  drained  from  the  country,  and 
collected  in  towns  and  cities.  I have  considered 
the  great  rural  establishments  of  the  nobility,  and 
the  lesser  establishments  of  the  gentry,  as  so 


282 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


many  reservoirs  of  wealth  and  intelligence  dis- 
tributed about  the  kingdom,  apart  from  the  towns, 
to  irrigate,  freshen,  and  fertilize  the  surrounding 
country.  I have  looked  upon  them,  too,  as  the 
august  retreat  of  patriots  and  statesmen,  where, 
in  the  enjoyment  of  honorable  independence  and 
elegant  leisure,  they  might  train  up  their  minds 
to  appear  in  those  legislative  assemblies  whose 
debates  and  decisions  form  the  study  and  prece- 
dents of  other  nations,  and  involve  the  interests 
of  the  world. 

I have  been  both  surprised  and  disappointed, 
therefore,  at  finding  that  on  this  subject  I was 
often  indulging  in  an  Utopian  dream,  rather  than 
a well-founded  opinion.  I have  been  concerned 
at  finding  that  these  fine  estates  were  too  often 
involved,  and  mortgaged,  or  placed  in  the  hands 
of  creditors,  and  the  owners  exiled  from  their  pa- 
ternal lands.  There  is  an  extravagance,  I am 
told,  that  runs  parallel  with  wealth  ; a lavish  ex- 
penditure among  the  great ; a senseless  competi- 
tion among  the  aspiring  ; a heedless,  joyous  dissi- 
pation, among  all  the  upper  ranks,  that  often  beg- 
gars even  these  splendid  establishments,  breaks 
down  the  pride  and  principles  of  their  possessors, 
and  makes  too  many  of  them  mere  place-hunters, 
or  shifting  absentees.  It  is  thus  that  so  many 
are  thrown  into  the  hands  of  government ; and  a 
court  which  ought  to  be  the  most  pure  and  hon- 
orable in  Europe,  is  so  often  degraded  by  noble 
but  importunate  time-servers.  It  is  thus,  too,  that 
bo  many  become  exiles  from  their  native  land, 
crowding  the  hotels  of  foreign  countries,  and  ex- 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN ; 283 


pending  upon  thankless  strangers  the  wealth*  so 
hardly  drained  from  their  laborious  peasantry.  I 
have  looked  upon  these  latter  with  a mixture  of 
censure  and  concern.  Knowing  the  almost  big- 
oted fondness  of  an  Englishman  for  his  native 
home,  I can  conceive  .what  must  be  their  com- 
punction and  regret,  when,  amidst  the  sun-burnt 
plains  of  France,  they  call  to  mind  the  green 
fields  of  England,  the  hereditary  groves  which 
they  have  abandoned,  and  the  hospitable  roof  of 
their  fathers,  which  they  have  left  desolate,  or  to 
be  inhabited  by  strangers.  But  retrenchment  is 
no  plea  for  abandonment  of  country.  They  have 
risen  with  the  prosperity  of  the  land ; let  them 
abide  its  fluctuations,  and  conform  to  its  fortunes. 
It  is  not  for  the  rich  to  fly  because  the  country  is 
suffering : let  them  share,  in  their  relative  pro- 
portion, the  common  lot ; they  owe  it  to  the  land 
that  has  elevated  them  to  honor  and  affluence. 
When  the  poor  have  to  diminish  their  scanty  mor- 
sels of  bread  ; when  they  have  to  compound  with 
the  cravings  of  nature,  and  study  with  how  little 
they  can  do,  and  not  be  starved ; it  is  not  then 
for  the  rich  to  fly,  and  diminish  still  farther  the 
resources  of  the  poor,  that  they  themselves  may 
live  in  splendor  in  a cheaper  country.  Let  them 
rather  retire  to  their  estates,  and  there  practise 
retrenchment.  Let  them  return  to  that  noble 
simplicity,  that  practical  good  sense,  that  honest 
pride,  which  form  the  foundation  of  true  English 
character,  and  from  them  they  may  again  rear  the 
edifice  of  fair  and  honorable  prosperity. 

On  the  rural  habits  of  the  Pmglish  nobility  and 


284 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALI., 

gentry,  on  the  manner  in  which  they  discharge 
their  duties  on  their  patrimonial  possessions,  de- 
pend greatly  the  virtue  and  welfare  of  the  nation. 
So  long  as  they  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time 
in  the  quiet  and  purity  of  the  country  ; surrounded 
by  the  monuments  of  their,  illustrious  ancestors  ; 
surrounded  by  everything  that  can  inspire  gener- 
ous pride,  noble  emulation,  and  amiable  and  mag- 
nanimous sentiment ; so  long  they  are  safe,  and 
in  them  the  nation  may  repose  its  interest  and  its 
honor.  But  the  moment  that  they  become  the 
servile  throngers  of  court  avenues,  and  give  them- 
selves up  to  the  political  intrigues  and  heartless 
dissipations  of  the  metropolis,  that  moment  they 
lose  the  real  nobility  of  their  natures,  and  be- 
come the  mere  leeches  of  the  country. 

That  the  great  majority  of  nobility  and  gentry 
in  England  are  endowed  with  high  notions  of 
honor  and  independence,  I thoroughly  believe. 
They  have  evidenced  it  lately  on  very  important 
questions,  and  have  given  an  example  of  adhe- 
rence to  principle,  in  preference  to  party  and 
power,  that  must  have  astonished  many  of  the 
venal  and  obsequious  courts  of  Europe.  Such 
are  the  glorious  effects  of  freedom,  when  infused 
into  a constitution.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  they 
are  apt  to  forget  the  positive  nature  of  their 
duties,  and  to  consider  their  eminent  privileges 
only  as  so  many  means  of  self-indulgence.  They 
should  recollect  that  in  a constitution  like  that 
of  England  the  titled  orders  are  intended  to  be 
as  useful  as  they  are  ornamental,  and  it  is  their 
virtues  alone  that  can  render  them  both.  Their 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN . 285 


duties  are  divided  between  the  sovereign  and  the 
subjects  ; surrounding  and  giving  lustre  and  dig 
nity  to  the  throne,  and  at  the  same  time  temper- 
ing and  mitigating  its  rays,  until  they  are  trans* 
mitted  in  mild  and  genial  radiance  to  the  people. 
"Born  to  leisure  and  opulence,  they  owe  the  exer- 
cise of  their  talents,  and  the  expenditure  of  their 
wealth,  to  their  native  country.  They  may  be 
compared  to  the  clouds  ; which,  being  drawn  up 
by  the  sun,  and  elevated  in  the  heavens,  reflect 
and  magnify  his  splendor,  — while  they  repay  the 
earth,  whence  they  derive  their  sustenance,  by 
returning  their  treasures  to  its  bosom  in  fertiliz- 
ing showers. 


A BACHELOR’S  CONFESSIONS. 

“ I ’ll  live  a private,  pensive,  single  life.” 

The  Collier  op  Croydon. 


WAS  sitting  in  my  room,  a morning  or 
two  since,  reading,  when  some  one  tapped 
at  the  door,  and  Master  Simon  entered. 
He  had  an  unusually  fresh  appearance  ; he  wore 
a bright-green  riding-coat,  with  a bunch  of  vio- 
lets in  the  button-hole,  and  had  the  air  of  an  old 
bachelor  trying  to  rejuvenate  himself.  He  had 
not,  however,  his  usual  briskness  and  vivacity ; 
but  loitered  about  the  room  with  somewhat  of  ab- 
sence of  manner,  humming  the  old  song,  — “ Go, 
lovely  rose,  tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me ; ” 
and  then,  leaning  against  the  window,  and  look- 
ing upon  the  landscape,  he  uttered  a very  audible 
sigh.  As  I had  not  been  accustomed  to  see  Mas- 
ter Simon  in  a pensive  mood,  I thought  there 
might  be  some  vexation  preying  on  his  mind,  and 
endeavored  to  introduce  a cheerful  strain  of  con- 
versation ; but  he  was  not  in  the  vein  to  follow  it 
up,  and  proposed  a walk. 

It  was  a beautiful  morning  of  that  soft  vernal 
temperature  which  seems  to  thaw  all  the  frost 
out  of  one’s  blood,  and  set  all  nature  in  a ferment 


A BACHELORS  CONFESSIONS. 


287 


The  very  fishes  felt  its  influence:  the  cautious 
trout  ventured  out  of  his  dark  hole  to  seek  his 
mate  ; the  roach  and  the  dace  rose  up  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  brook  to  bask  in  the  sunshine ; and 
the  amorous  frog  piped  from  among  the  rushes. 
If  ever  an  oyster  can  really  fall  in  love,  as  has 
been  said  or  sung,  it  must  be  on  such  a morning. 

The  weather  certainly  had  its  effect  upon  Mas- 
ter Simon,  for  he  seemed  obstinately  bent  upon 
the  pensive  mood.  Instead  of  stepping  briskly 
along,  smacking  his  dog-whip,  whistling  quaint 
ditties,  or  telling  sporting  anecdotes,  he  leaned 
on  my  arm,  and  talked  about  the  approaching 
nuptials,  whence  he  made  several  digressions  upon 
the  character  of  womankind,  touched  a little  up- 
on the  tender  passion,  and  made  sundry  very  ex- 
cellent, though  rather  trite,  observations  upon 
disappointments  in  love.  It  was  evident  he  had 
something  on  his  mind  which  he  wished  to  im- 
part, but  felt  awkward  in  approaching  it.  I was 
curious  to  see  what  this  strain  would  lead  to,  but 
determined  not  to  assist  him.  Indeed,  I mis- 
chievously pretended  to  turn  the  conversation, 
and  talked  of  his  usual  topics,  dogs,  horses,  and 
hunting  ; but  he  was  very  brief  in  his  replies,  and 
invariably  got  back,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  into 
the  sentimental  vein. 

At  length  we  came  to  a clump  of  trees  over- 
hanging a whispering  brook,  with  a rustic  bench 
at  their  feet.  The  trees  were  grievously  scored 
with  letters  and  devices,  grown  out  of  all  shape 
and  size  by  the  growth  of  the  bark  ; and  it  ap- 
peared that  this  grove  had  served  as  a kind  of 


288 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


register  of  the  family  loves  from  time  immemorial. 
Here  Master  Simon  made  a pause,  pulled  up  a 
tuft  of  flowers,  threw  them  one  by  one  into  the 
water,  and  at  length,  turning  somewhat  abruptly 
upon  me,  asked  me  if  I had  ever  been  in  love. 
I confess  the  question  startled  me  a little,  as  I 
am  not  over- fond  of  making  confessions  of  my 
amorous  follies,  and  above  all  should  never  dream 
of  choosing  my  friend  Master  Simon  for  a confi- 
dant. He  did  not  wait,  however,  for  a reply; 
the  inquiry  was  merely  a prelude  to  a confession 
on  his  own  part ; and  after  several  circumlocutions 
and  whimsical  preambles,  he  fairly  disburdened 
himself  of  a very  tolerable  story  of  his  having 
been  crossed  in  love. 

The  reader  will,  very  probably,  suppose  that 
it  related  to  the  gay  widow  who  jilted  him  not 
long  since  at  Doncaster  races  ; — no  such  thing. 
It  was  about  a sentimental  passion  that  he  once 
had  for  a most  beautiful  young  lady,  who  wrote 
poetry  and  played  on  the  harp.  He  used  to  ser- 
enade her ; and,  indeed,  he  described  several  ten- 
der and  gallant  scenes,  in  which  he  was  evidently 
picturing  himself  in  his  mind’s  eye  as  some  ele- 
gant hero  of  romance,  though,  unfortunately  for 
the  tale,  I only  saw  him  as  he  stood  before  me,  a 
dapper  little  old  bachelor,  with  a face  like  an  ap- 
ple that  had  dried  with  the  bloom  on  it. 

What  were  the  particulars  of  this  tender  tale 
I have  already  forgotten ; indeed,  I listened  to  it 
with  a heart  like  a very  pebble-stone,  having  hard 
work  to  repress  a smile  while  Master  Simon  was 
putting  on  the  amorous  swain,  uttering  every  now 


A BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS.  289 


and  then  a .sigh,  and  endeavoring  to  look  senti- 
mental and  melancholy. 

All  that  I recollect  is,  that  the  lady,  according 
to  his  account,  was  certainly  a little  touched  ; for 
she  used  to  accept  all  the  music  that  he  copied 
for  her  harp,  and  all  the  patterns  that  he  drew 
for  her  dresses  ; and  he  began  to  flatter  himself  1 
after  a long  course  of  delicate  attentions,  that  he 
was  gradually  fanning  up  a gentle  flame  in  her 
heart,  when  she  suddenly  accepted  the  hand  of 
a rich,  boisterous,  fox-hunting  baronet,  without 
either  music  or  sentiment,  who  carried  her  by 
storm,  after  a fortnight’s  courtship. 

Master  Simon  could  not  help  concluding  by 
some  observation  about  “ modest  merit,”  and  the 
power  of  gold  over  the  sex.  As  a remembrance 
of  his  passion,  he  pointed  out  a heart  carved  on 
the  bark  of  one  of  the  trees,  but  which,  in  the 
process  of  time,  had  grown  out  into  a large  ex- 
crescence ; and  he  showed  me  a lock  of  her  hair, 
which  he  wore  in  a true  lover’s  knot,  in  a large 
gold  brooch. 

I have  seldom  met  with  an  old  bachelor  who 
had  not,  at  some  time  or  other,  his  nonsensical 
moment,  when  he  would  become  tender  and  sen- 
timental, talk  about  the  concerns  of  the  heart,  and 
have  some  confession  of  a delicate  nature  to  make 
Almost  every  man  has  some  little  trait  of  romance 
in  his  life,  to  which  he  looks  back  with  fondness, 
and  about  which  he  is  apt  to  grow  garrulous  oc- 
casionally. He  recollects  himself  as  he  was  at 
the  time,  young  and  gamesome,  and  forgets  that 
his  hearers  have  no  other  idea  of  the  hero  of  the 
19 


290 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL . 


tale  but  such  as  he  may  appear  at  the  time  of  tell- 
ing it;  peradventure,  a withered,  whimsical,  spin- 
dle-shanked old  gentleman.  With  married  men,  it 
is  true,  this  is  not  so  frequently  the  case ; their 
amorous  romance  is  apt  to  decline  after  marriage  ; 
why,  I cannot  for  the  life  of  me  imagine ; but 
with  a bachelor,  though  it  may  slumber,  it  never 
dies.  It  is  always  liable  to  break  out  again  m 
transient  flashes,  and  never  so  much  as  on  a spring 
morning  in  the  country,  or  on  a winter  evening 
when  seated  in  his  solitary  chamber,  stirring  up 
the  fire  and  talking  of  matrimony. 

The  moment  Master  Simon  had  gone  through 
his  confession,  and,  to  use  the  common  phrase, 
“ had  made  a clean  breast  of  it,”  he  became  quite 
himself  again.  He  had  settled  the  point  which 
had  been  worrying  his  mind,  and  doubtless  con- 
sidered himself  established  as  a man  of  sentiment 
in  my  opinion.  Before  we  had  finished  our 
morning’s  stroll,  he  was  singing  as  blithe  as  a 
grasshopper,  whistling  to  his  dogs,  and  telling 
droll  stories  ; and  I recollect  that  he  was  particu- 
larly facetious  that  day  at  dinner  on  the  subject 
of  matrimony,  and  uttered  several  excellent  jokes, 
not  to  be  found  in  Joe  Miller,  that  made  the  bride 
elect  blush  and  look  down,  but  set  all  the  old 
gentlemen  at  the  table  in  a roar,  and  absolutely 
brought  tears  into  the  general’s  eyes. 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY. 

“ Merrie  England ! ” 

Ancient  Phrase. 

HERE  is  nothing  so  rare  as  for  a man 
to  ride  his  hobby  without  molestation. 
I find  the  Squire  has  not  so  undisturbed 
an  indulgence  in  his  humors  as  I had  imagined  ; 
but  has  been  repeatedly  thwarted  of  late,  and  has 
suffered  a kind  of  well-meaning  persecution  from 
a Mr.  Faddy,  an  old  gentleman  of  some  weight, 
at  least  of  purse,  who  has  recently  moved  into 
the  neighborhood.  He  is  a worthy  and  substan- 
tial manufacturer,  who,  having  accumulated  a 
large  fortune  by  dint  of  steam-engines  and  spin- 
ning-jennies, has  retired  from  business,  and  set  up 
for  a country  gentleman.  He  has  taken  an  old 
country  seat,  and  refitted  it ; and  painted  and 
plastered  it  until  it  looks  not  unlike  his  own  man- 
ufactory. He  has  been  particularly  careful  in 
mending  the  walls  and  hedges,  and  putting  up  no- 
tices of  spring-guns  and  man-traps  in  every  part 
of  his  premises.  Indeed,  he  shows  great  jeal- 
ousy about  his  territorial  rights,  having  stopped 
up  a footpath  which  led  across  his  fields  ; and 
given  warning,  in  staring  letters,  that  whoevei 


292 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


was  found  trespassing  on  those  grounds  would 
be  prosecuted  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law 
He  has  brought  into  the  country  with  him  all 
the  practical  maxims  of  the  town,  and  the  bus- 
tling habits  of  business ; and  is  one  of  those 
sensible,  useful,  prosing,  troublesome,  intolerable 
old  gentlemen,  who  go  about  wearying  and 
worrying  society  with  excellent  plans  for  public 
utility. 

He  is  very  much  disposed  to  be  on  intimate 
terms  with  the  Squire,  and  calls  on  him  every 
now  and  then,  with  some  project  for  the  good  of 
the  neighborhood,  which  happens  to  run  dia- 
metrically opposite  to  some  one  or  other  of  the 
Squire’s  peculiar  notions,  but  which  is  “ too  sen- 
sible a measure  ” to  be  openly  opposed.  He  has 
annoyed  him  excessively  by  enforcing  the  vagrant 
laws  ; persecuting  the  gypsies,  and  endeavoring  to 
suppress  country  wakes  and  holiday  games  ; which 
he  considers  great  nuisances,  and  reprobates  as 
causes  of  the  deadly  sin  of  idleness. 

There  is  evidently  in  all  this  a little  of  the 
ostentation  of  newly  acquired  consequence ; the 
tradesman  is  gradually  swelling  into  the  aristo- 
crat ; and  he  begins  to  grow  excessively  intol- 
erant of  everything  that  is  not  genteel.  He  has 
a great  deal  to  say  about  “ the  common  people  ” ; 
talks  much  of  his  park,  his  preserves,  and  the 
necessity  of  enforcing  the  game-laws  more  strictly ; 
and  makes  frequent  use  of  the  phrase,  “ the  gen- 
try of  the  neighborhood.” 

He  came  to  the  Hall  lately,  with  a face  full  of 
business,  that  he  and  the  Squire,  to  use  his  own 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY. 


293 


words,  61  might  lay  their  heads  together,”  to  hit 
upon  some  mode  of  putting  a stop  to  the  frolick- 
ing at  the  village  on  the  approaching  May-day 
It  drew,  lie  said,  idle  people  together  from  all 
parts  of  the  neighborhood,  who  spent  the  day  fid 
filing,  dancing,  and  carousing,  instead  of  staying  at 
home  to  work  for  their  families. 

Now,  as  the  Squire,  unluckily,  is  at  the  bottom 
of  these  May-day  revels,  it  may  be  supposed  that 
these  suggestions  of  the  sagacious  Mr.  Faddy 
were  not  received  with  the  best  grace  in  the 
world.  It  is  true,  the  old  gentleman  is  too  cour- 
teous to  show  any  temper  to  a guest  in  his  own 
house ; but  no  sooner  was  he  gone  than  the  indig- 
nation of  the  Squire  found  vent,  at  having  his 
poetical  cobwebs  invaded  by  this  buzzing  blue- 
bottle fly  of  traffic.  In  his  warmth  he  inveighed 
against  the  whole  race  of  manufacturers,  who,  I 
found,  were  sore  disturbers  of  his  comfort.  “ Sir,” 
said  he,  with  emotion,  “ it  makes  my  heart  bleed 
to  see  all  our  fine  streams  dammed  up  and  be- 
strode by  cotton-mills  ; our  valleys  smoking  with 
steam-engines,  and  the  din  of  the  hammer  and  the 
loom  scaring  away  all  our  rural  delights.  What ’s 
to  become  of  merry  old  England,  when  its  manor- 
houses  are  all  turned  into  manufactories,  and  its 
sturdy  peasantry  into  pin-makers  and  stocking- 
weavers  ? I have  looked  in  vain  for  merry  Sher- 
wood, and  all  the  greenwood  haunts  of  Robin 
Hood  ; the  whole  country  is  covered  with  manu- 
facturing towns.  I have  stood  on  the  ruins  of 
Dudley  Castle,  and  looked  round,  with  an  aching 
heart,  on  what  were  once  its  feudal  domains  of 


294 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


verdant  and  beautiful  country.  Sir,  I beheld  a 
mere  campus  phlegrse ; a region  of  fire  ; reeking 
with  coal-pits,  and  furnaces,  and  smelting-houses, 
vomiting  forth  flames  and  smoke.  The  pale  and 
ghastly  people,  toiling  among  vile  exhalations, 
looked  more  like  demons  than  human  beings  ; the 
clanking  wheels  and  engines,  seen  through  the 
murky  atmosphere,  looked  like  instruments  of  tor- 
ture in  this  pandemonium.  What  is  to  become 
of  the  country  with  these  evils  rankling  in  its 
very  core  ? Sir,  these  manufacturers  will  be  the 
ruin  of  our  rural  manners ; they  will  destroy  the 
national  character ; they  will  not  leave  materials 
for  a single  line  of  poetry ! ” 

The  Squire  is  apt  to  wax  eloquent  on  such 
themes ; and  I could  hardly  help  smiling  at  this 
whimsical  lamentation  over  national  industry  and 
public  improvement.  I am  told,  however,  that 
he  really  grieves  at  the  growing  of  trade,  as  de- 
stroying the  charm  of  life.  He  considers  every 
new  short-hand  mode  of  doing  things  as  an  in- 
road of  snug  sordid  method ; and  thinks  that 
this  will  soon  become  a mere  matter-of-fact  world, 
where  life  will  be  reduced  to  a mathematical  cal- 
culation of  conveniences,  and  everything  will  be 
done  by  steam. 

He  maintains,  also,  that  the  nation  has  declined 
in  its  free  and  joyous  spirit  in  proportion  as  it 
has  turned  its  attention  to  commerce  and  manu- 
factures ; and  that  in  old  times,  when  England 
was  an  idler,  it  was  also  a merrier  little  island. 
In  support  of  this  opinion,  he  adduces  the  fre- 
quency and  splendor  of  ancient  festivals  and 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY. 


295 


merry-makings,  and  the  hearty  spirit  with  which 
they  were  kept  up  by  all  classes  of  people.  His 
memory  is  stored  with  the  accounts  given  by 
Stow,  in  his  Survey  of  London,  of  the  holiday 
revels  at  the  inns  of  court,  the  Christmas  mum- 
meries, and  the  masquings  and  bonfires  about  the 
streets.  London,  he  says,  in  those  days,  resem- 
bled the  continental  cities  in  its  picturesque  man- 
ners and  amusements.  The  court  used  to  dance 
after  dinner  on  public  occasions.  After  the  coro- 
nation-dinner of  Richard  n.,  for  example,  the 
king,  the  prelates,  the  nobles,  the  knights,  and  the 
rest  of  the  company  danced  in  Westminster  Hall 
to  the  music  of  the  minstrels.  The  example  of 
the  court  was  followed  by  the  middling  classes, 
and  so  down  to  the  lowest,  and  the  whole  nation 
was  a dancing,  jovial  nation.  He  quotes  a lively 
city  picture  of  the  times,  given  by  Stow,  which 
resembles  the  lively  scenes  one  may  often  see  in 
the  gay  city  of  Paris  ; for  he  tells  us  that  on 
holidays,  after  evening  prayers,  the  maidens  in 
London  used  to  assemble  before  the  door,  in  sight 
of  their  masters  and  dames,  and  while  one  played 
on  a timbrel,  the  others  danced  for  garlands, 
hanged  athwart  the  street. 

“ Where  will  we  meet  with  such  merry  groups 
nowadays  ? ” the  Squire  will  exclaim,  shaking 
his  head  mournfully ; — “ and  then  at  to  the 
gayety  that  prevailed  in  dress  throughout  all 
ranks  of  society ; and  made  the  very  streets  so 
fine  and  picturesque.  6 1 have  myself/  says  Ger- 
7aise  Markham,  ‘ met  an  ordinary  tapster  in  his 
silk  stockings,  garters  deep  fringed  with  gold  lace, 


296 


BRA  CEB  It  ID  GE  HALL. 


the  rest  of  his  apparel  suitable,  with  cloak  lined 
with  velvet ! 9 Naslie,  too,  who  wrote  in  1593, 
exclaims  at  the  finery  of  the  nation,  ‘ England, 
the  player’s  stage  of  gorgeous  attire,  the  ape  of 
all  nations’  superfluities,  the  continual  masquer  in 
outlandish  habiliments.’  ” 

Such  are  a few  of  the  authorities  quoted  by 
the  Squire  by  way  of  contrasting  what  he  sup- 
poses to  have  been  the  former  vivacity  of  the 
nation  with  its  present  monotonous  character. 
u John  Bull,”  he  will  say,  “ was  then  a gay  cava- 
lier, with  a sword  by  his  side  and  a feather  in  his 
cap  ; but  he  is  now  a plodding  citizen,  in  snuff- 
colored  coat  and  gaiters.” 

By  the  by,  there  really  appears  to  have  been 
some  change  in  the  national  character  since  the 
days  of  which  the  Squire  is  so  fond  of  talking  ; 
those  days  when  this  little  island  acquired  its 
favorite  old  title  of  “ merry  England.”  This 
may  be  attributed  in  part  to  the  growing  hard- 
ships of  the  times,  and  the  necessity  of  turning 
the  whole  attention  to  the  means  of  subsistence ; 
but  England’s  gayest  customs  prevailed  at  times 
when  her  common  people  enjoyed  comparatively 
few  of  the  comforts  and  conveniences  which  they 
do  at  present.  It  may  be  still  more  attributed 
to  the  universal  spirit  of  gain,  and  the  calculating 
habits  which  commerce  has  introduced;  but  I am 
inclined  to  attribute  it  chiefly  to  the  gradual  in- 
crease of  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and  the  grow- 
ing freedom  and  activity  of  opinion. 

A free  people  are  apt  to  be  grave  and  thought- 
ful. They  have  high  and  important  matters  to 


ENGLISH  GRA  VITY. 


297 


occupy  their  minds.  They  feel  it  their  right, 
their  interest,  and  their  duty  to  mingle  in  public 
concerns,  and  to  watch  over  the  general  wel- 
fare. The  continual  exercise  of  the  mind  on 
political  topics  gives  intenser  habits  of  think- 
ing, and  a more  serious  and  earnest  demeanor. 
A nation  becomes  less  gay,  but  more  intellect- 
ually active  and  vigorous.  It  evinces  less  play 
of  the  fancy,  but  more  power  of  the  imagina- 
tion ; less  taste  and  elegance,  but  more  grandeur 
of  mind  ; less  animated  vivacity,  but  deeper  en- 
thusiasm. 

It  is  when  men  are  shut  out  of  the  regions  of 
manly  thought  by  a despotic  government  ; when 
every  grave  and  lofty  theme  is  rendered  perilous 
to  discussion  and  almost  to  reflection  ; it  is  then 
that  they  turn  to  the  safer  occupations  of  taste 
and  amusement ; trifles  rise  to  importance,  and 
occupy  the  craving  activity  of  intellect.  No 
being  is  more  void  of  care  and  reflection  than 
the  slave  ; none  dances  more  gayly  in  his  inter- 
vals of  labor  : but  make  him  free,  give  him  rights 
and  interests  to  guard,  and  he  becomes  thought- 
ful and  laborious. 

The  French  are  a gayer  people  than  the  Eng- 
lish. Why  ? Partly  from  temperament,  per- 
haps ; but  greatly  because  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  governments  which  surrounded  the  free 
exercise  of  thought  with  danger,  and  where  he 
only  was  safe  who  shut  his  eyes  and  ears  to  pub- 
lic events,  and  enjoyed  the  passing  pleasure  of 
vhe  day.  Within  late  years  they  have  had  more 
opportunity  of  exercising  their  minds  ; and  with- 


298 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 


in  late  years  the  national  character  has  essentially 
changed.  Never  did  the  French  enjoy  such  a 
degree  of  freedom  as  they  do  at  this  moment, 
and  at  this  moment  the  French  are  comparatively 
a grave  people. 


GYPSIES. 

What’s  that  to  absolute  freedom  ; such  as  the  very  beggars  have; 
o feast  and  revel  here  to-day,  and  yonder  to-morrow ; next  day 
sphere  they  please ; and  so  on  still,  the  whole  country  or  kingdom 
aver  ? There ’s  liberty ! the  birds  of  the  air  can  take  no  more.  — 
Jovial  Crew. 

K^tgjSlNCE  the  meeting  with  the  gypsies, 
which  I have  related  in  a former  paper, 
I have  observed  several  of  them  haunt- 
ing the  purlieus  of  the  Hall,  notwithstanding  a 
positive  interdiction  of  the  Squire.  They  are 
part  of  a gang  which  has  long  kept  about  this 
neighborhood  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  far- 
mers, whose  poultry-yards  often  suffer  from  their 
nocturnal  invasions.  They  are,  however,  in  some 
measure,  patronized  by  the  Squire,  who  considers 
the  race  as  belonging  to  the  good  old  times  ; which, 
to  confess  the  private  truth,  seem  to  have  abounded 
with  good-for-nothing  characters. 

This  roving  crew  is  called  “ Star-light  Turn’s 
Gang,”  from  the  name  of  its  chieftain,  a notorious 
poacher.  I have  heard  repeatedly  of  the  mis- 
deeds of  this  “ minion  of  the  moon  ” ; for  every 
midnight  depredation  in  park,  or  fold,  or  farm- 
yard, is  laid  to  his  charge.  Star-light  Tom,  in 
fact,  answers  to  his  name  ; he  seems  to  walk  in 


300 


BRA  CEBRILMiE  UAL 


darkness,  and,  like  a fox,  to  be  traced  in  the 
morning  by  the  mischief  he  has  done.  He  re- 
minds me  of  that  fearful  personage  in  the  nursery 
i hyme : 

u Who  goes  round  the  house  at  night  ? 

None  but  bloody  Tom ! 

Who  steals  all  the  sheep  at  night  ? 

None  but  one  by  one ! ” 

In  short,  Star-light  Tom  is  the  scape-goat  of  the 
neighborhood,  but  so  cunning  and  adroit,  that 
there  is  no  detecting  him.  Old  Christy  and  the 
gamekeeper  have  watched  many  a night  in  hopes 
of  entrapping  him  ; and  Christy  often  patrols  the 
park  with  his  dogs  for  the  purpose,  but  all  in  vain. 
It  is  said  that  the  Squire  winks  hard  at  his  mis- 
deeds, having  an  indulgent  feeling  towards  the 
vagabond,  because  of  his  being  very  expert  at  all 
kinds  of  game,  a great  shot  with  the  cross-bow, 
and  the  best  morris-dancer  in  the  country. 

The  Squire  also  suffers  the  gang  to  lurk  un- 
molested about  the  skirts  of  his  estate,  on  condi- 
tion they  do  not  come  about  the  house.  The 
approaching  wedding,  however,  has  made  a kind 
of  Saturnalia  at  the  Hall,  and  has  caused  a sus- 
pension of  all  sober  rule.  It  has  produced  a 
great  sensation  throughout  the  female  part  of  the 
household ; not  a housemaid  but  dreams  of  wed- 
ding-favors, and  has  a husband  running  in  her 
head.  Such  a time  is  a harvest  for  the  gypsies  : 
there  is  a public  footpath  leading  across  one  part 
of  the  park,  by  which  they  have  free  ingress ; and 
they  are  continually  hovering  about  the  grounds, 
telling  the  servant-girls’  fortunes,  or  getting  smug- 
gled in  to  the  young  ladies. 


G YPS/ES. 


301 


I believe  tlie  Oxonian  amuses  himself  very 
much  by  furnishing  them  with  hints  in  private, 
and  bewildering  all  the  weak  brains  in  the  house 
with  their  wonderful  revelations.  The  general 
certainly  was  very  much  astonished  by  the  com- 
munications made  to  him  the  other  evening  by 
the  gypsy  girl : he  kept  a wary  silence  towards 
us  on  the  subject,  and  affected  to  treat  it  lightly ; 
but  I have  noticed  that  he  has  since  redoubled  his 
attentions  to  Lady  Lillycraft  and  her  dogs. 

I have  seen  also  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  house- 
keeper’s pretty  and  lovesick  niece,  holding  a long 
conference  with  one  of  these  old  sibyls  behind  a 
large  tree  in  the  avenue,  and  often  looking  round  to 
see  that  she  was  not  observed.  I make  no  doubt 
she  was  endeavoring  to  get  some  favorable  augury 
about  the  result  of  her  love-quarrel  with  young 
Ready-Money,  as  oracles  have  always  been  more 
consulted  on  love-affairs  than  upon  anything  else. 
I fear,  however,  that  in  this  instance  the  response 
was  not  so  favorable  as  usual,  for  I perceived  poor 
Phoebe  returning  pensively  towards  the  house 
her  head  hanging  down,  her  hat  in  her  hand,  and 
the  ribbon  trailing  along  the  ground. 

At  another  time,  as  I turned  a corner  of  a ter- 
race, at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  just  by  a clump 
of  trees,  and  a large  stone  urn,  I came  upon  a 
bevy  of  the  young  girls  of  the  family,  attended 
by  this  same  Phoebe  Wilkins.  I was  at  a loss  to 
comprehend  the  meaning  of  their  blushing  and 
giggling,  and  their  apparent  agitation,  until  I saw 
the  red  cloak  of  a gypsy  vanishing  among  the 
shrubbery.  A few  in  aments  after  I caught  a sight 


802 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


of  Master  Simon  and  the  Oxonian  stealing  along 
one  of  the  walks  of  the  garden,  chuckling  and 
laughing  at  their  successful  waggery  ; having  evi- 
dently put  the  gypsy  up  to  the  thing,  and  in- 
structed her  what  to  say. 

After  all,  there  is  something  strangely  pleasing 
in  these  tamperings  with  the  future,  even  where 
we  are  convinced  of  the  fallacy  of  the  prediction. 
It  is  singular  how  willingly  the  mind  will  half 
deceive  itself ; and  with  a degree  of  awe  we  will 
listen  even  to  these  babblers  about  futurity.  For 
my  part,  I cannot  feel  angry  with  these  poor  vaga- 
bonds, that  seek  to  deceive  us  into  bright  hopes  and 
expectations.  I have  always  been  something  of  a 
castle-builder,  and  have  found  my  liveliest  pleas- 
ures to  arise  from  the  illusions  which  fancy  has 
cast  over  commonplace  realities.  As  I get  on  in 
life,  I find  it  more  difficult  to  deceive  myself  in 
this  delightful  manner ; and  I should  be  thankful 
to  any  prophet,  however  false,  who  would  conjure 
the  clouds  which  hang  over  futurity  into  palaces, 
and  all  its  doubtful  regions  into  fairy-land. 

The  Squire,  who,  as  I have  observed,  has  a 
private  good-will  towards  gypsies,  has  suffered 
considerable  annoyance  on  their  account.  Not 
that  they  requite  his  indulgence  with  ingratitude, 
for  they  do  not  depredate  very  flagrantly  on  his 
estate  ; but  because  their  pilferings  and  misdeeds 
occasion  loud  murmurs  in  the  village.  I can 
readily  understand  the  old  gentleman’s  humor  on 
this  point ; I have  a great  toleration  for  all  kinds 
of  vagrant,  sunshiny  existence,  and  must  confess 
I take  a pleasure  in  observing  the  ways  of  gypsies. 


G YPSIES. 


303 


The  English,  who  are  accustomed  to  them  from 
childhood,  and  often  suffer  from  their  petty  depre- 
dations, consider  them  as  mere  nuisances ; but 
I have  been  very  much  struck  with  their  peculi- 
arities. I like  to  behold  their  clear  olive  com 
plexions  ; their  romantic  black  eyes  ; their  raven 
locks  ; their  lithe  slender  figures ; and  to  hear 
them,  in  low  silver  tones,  dealing  forth  magnifi- 
cent promises  of  honors  and  estates,  of  world’s 
wealth,  and  ladies’  love. 

Their  mode  of  life,  too,  has  something  in  it 
very  fanciful  and  picturesque.  They  are  the  free 
denizens  of  nature,  and  maintain  a primitive  in- 
dependence, in  spite  of  law  and  gospel,  of  county 
jails  and  country  magistrates.  It  is  curious  to 
see  this  obstinate  adherence  to  the  wild  unsettled 
habits  of  savage  life  transmitted  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  preserved  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  the  most  cultivated,  populous,  and  systematic 
countries  in  the  world.  They  are  totally  distinct 
from  the  busy,  thrifty  people  about  them.  They 
seem  to  be,  like  the  Indians  of  America,  either 
above  or  below  the  ordinary  cares  and  anxieties 
of  mankind.  Heedless  of  power,  of  honors,  of 
wealth,  and  indifferent  to  the  fluctuations  of  times, 
the  rise  or  fall  of  grain,  or  stock,  or  empires, 
they  seem  to  laugh  at  the  toiling,  fretting  world 
around  them,  and  to  live  according  to  the  philoso- 
phy of  the  old  song : 

“ "Who  would  ambition  shun, 

And  loves  to  lie  i’  the  sun, 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 

And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 


304 


BRACEBR1DGE  II ALL. 


Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither- 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy, 

But  winter  and  rough  weather.” 

In  this  way  they  wander  from  county  to  county 
keeping  about  the  purlieus  of  villages,  or  in  plen* 
teous  neighborhoods,  where  there  are  fat  farms 
and  rich  country-seats.  Their  encampments  are 
generally  made  in  some  beautiful  spot : either  a 
green  shady  nook  of  a road ; or  on  the  border  of 
a common,  under  a sheltering  hedge  ; or  on  the 
skirts  of  a fine  spreading  wood.  They  are  always 
to  be  found  lurking  about  fairs,  and  races,  and 
rustic  gatherings,  wherever  there  is  pleasure,  and 
throng,  and  idleness.  They  are  the  oracles  of 
milkmaids  and  simple  serving-girls ; and  some- 
times have  even  the  honor  of  perusing  the  white 
hands  of  gentlemen’s  daughters,  when  rambling 
about  their  fathers’  grounds.  They  are  the  bane 
of  good  housewives  and  thrifty  farmers,  and  odi- 
ous in  the  eyes  of  country  justices  ; but,  like  all 
other  vagabond  beings,  they  have  something  to 
commend  them  to  the  fancy.  They  are  among 
the  last  traces,  in  these . matter-of-fact  days,  of  the 
motley  population  of  former  times  ; and  are  whim- 
sically associated  in  my  mind  with  fairies  and 
witches,  Robin  Good  Fellow,  Robin  Hood,  and 
the  other  fantastical  personages  of  poetry. 


MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS. 

Happy  the  age,  and  harmless  were  the  dayes, 

(For  then  true  love  and  amity  was  found,) 

When  every  village  did  a May-pole  raise, 

And  Whitson  ales  and  May  games  did  abound  * 

And  all  the  lusty  yonkers  m a rout, 

With  merry  lasses  daunc’d  the  rod  about, 

Then  friendship  to  their  banquets  bid  the  guests, 

And  poore  men  far’d  the  better  for  their  feasts. 

Pasquil’s  Palinodia. 


HE  month  of  April  has  nearly  passed 
away,  and  we  are  fast  approaching  that 
poetical  day,  which  was  considered,  in 
old  times,  as  the  boundary  that  parted  the  front- 
iers of  winter  and  summer.  With  all  its  caprices, 
however,  I like  the  month  of  April.  I like  these 
laughing  and  crying  days,  when  sun  and  shade 
seem  to  run  in  billows  over  the  landscape.  I 
like  to  see  the  sudden  shower  coursing  over  the 
meadow,  and  giving  all  nature  a greener  smile ; 
and  the  bright  sunbeams  chasing  the  flying  cloud, 
and  turning  all  its  drops  into  diamonds. 

I was  enjoying  a morning  of  the  kind  in  com- 
pany with  the  Squire  in  one  of  the  finest  parts 
of  the  park.  We  were  skirting  a beautiful  grove, 
and  he  was  giving  me  a kind  of  biographical  ac- 
count of  several  of  his  favorite  forest- trees,  when 
he  heard  the  strokes  of  an  axe  fr^m  the  midst  of 
20 


306 


BRACEB1UDGE  HALL. 


a thick  copse.  The  Squire  paused  and  listened, 
with  manifest  signs  of  uneasiness.  He  turned 
his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  The 
strokes  grew  louder  and  louder  as  we  advanced ; 
there  was  evidently  a vigorous  arm  wielding  the 
axe.  The  Squire  quickened  his  pace,  but  in 
vain  ; a loud  crack  and  a succeeding  crash  told 
that  the  mischief  had  been  done,  and  some  child 
of  the  forest  laid  low.  When  we  came  to  the 
place,  we  found  Master  Simon  and  several  others 
standing  about  a tall  and  beautifully  straight 
young  tree,  which  had  just  been  felled. 

The  Squire,  though  a man  of  most  harmonious 
dispositions,  was  completely  put  out  of  tune  by 
this  circumstance.  He  felt  like  a monarch  wit- 
nessing the  murder  of  one  of  his  liege  subjects, 
and  demanded,  with  some  asperity,  the  meaning 
of  the  outrage.  It  turned  out  to  be  an  affair  of 
Master  Simon’s,  who  had  selected  the  tree,  from 
its  height  and  straightness,  for  a May-pole,  the  old 
one  which  stood  on  the  village  green  being  unfit 
for  farther  service.  If  anything  could  have 
soothed  the  ire  of  my  worthy  host,  it  would  have 
been  the  reflection  that  his  tree  had  fallen  in  so 
good  a cause ; and  I saw  that  there  was  a great 
struggle  between  his  fondness  for  his  groves  and 
his  devotion  to  May-day.  He  could  not  contem- 
plate the  prostrate  tree,  however,  without  indulg- 
ing in  lamentation,  and  making  a kind  of  funeral 
eulogy,  like  Marc  Antony  over  the  body  of  Cajsar  ; 
and  he  forbade  that  any  tree  should  thenceforward 
be  cut  down  on  his  estate  without  a warrant  from 
himself;  being  determined,  he  said,  to  hold  the 


MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS . 


307 


sovereign  power  of  life  and  death  in  hife  own 
hands. 

This  mention  of  the  May-pole  struck  my  at- 
tention, and  I inquired  whether  the  old  customs 
connected  with  it  were  really  kept  up  in  this  part 
of  the  country.  The  Squire  shook  his  head 
mournfully  ; and  I found  I had  touched  on  one 
of  his  tender  points,  for  he  grew  quite  melancholy 
in  bewailing  the  total  decline  of  old  May-day. 
Though  it  is  regularly  celebrated  in  the  neigh- 
ooring  village,  yet  it  has  been  merely  resuscitated 
by  the  worthy  Squire,  and  is  kept  up  in  a forced 
state  of  existence  at  his  expense.  He  meets  with 
continual  discouragements ; and  finds  great  diffi- 
culty in  getting  the  country  bumpkins  to  play 
their  parts  tolerably.  He  manages  to  have  every 
year  a “ Queen  of  the  May  ” ; but  as  to  Robin 
Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  the  Dragon,  the  Hobby  Horse, 
and  all  the  other  motley  crew  that  used  to  enliven 
the  day  with  their  mummery,  he  has  not  ventured 
to  introduce  them. 

Still  I look  forward  with  some  interest  to  the 
promised  shadow  of  old  May-day,  even  though  it 
be  but  a shadow ; and  I feel  more  and  more 
pleased  with  the  whimsical  yet  harmless  hobby  of 
my  host,  which  is  surrounding  him  with  agree- 
able associations,  and  making  a little  world  of 
poetry  about  him.  Brought  up,  as  I have  been, 
in  a new  country,  I may  appreciate  too  highly  the 
taint  vestiges  of  ancient  customs  which  I now  and 
then  meet  with,  and  the  interest  I express  in  them 
may  provoke  a smile  from  those  who  are  negli- 
gently suffering  them  to  pass  away.  But  with 


308 


BRACEBRIDGE  IIALL . 


whatever  indifference  they  may  be  regarded  by 
those  “ to  the  manner  born,”  yet  in  my  mind  the 
lingering  flavor  of  them  imparts  a charm  to  rus- 
tic life,  which  nothing  else  could  readily  supply. 

I shall  never  forget  the  delight  I felt  on  first 
seeing  a May-pole.  It  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
Dee,  close  by  the  picturesque  old  bridge  that 
stretches  across  the  river,  from  the  quaint  little 
city  of  Chester.  I had  already  been  carried  back 
into  former  days  by  the  antiquities  of  that  vener- 
able place  ; the  examination  of  which  is  equal  to 
turning  over  the  pages  of  a black-letter  volume, 
or  gazing  on  the  pictures  in  Froissart.  The  May- 
pole  on  the  margin  of  that  poetic  stream  completed 
the  illusion.  My  fancy  adorned  it  with  wreaths 
of  flowers,  and  peopled  the  green  bank  with  all 
the  dancing  revelry  of  May-day.  The  mere  sight 
of  this  May-pole  gave  a glow  to  my  feelings,  and 
spread  a charm  over  the  country  for  the  rest  of 
the  day  ; and  as  I traversed  a part  of  the  fair 
plain  of  Cheshire,  and  the  beautiful  borders  of 
Wales,  and  looked  from  among  swelling  hills, 
down  a long  green  valley,  through  which  “ the 
Deva  wound  its  wizard  stream,”  my  imagination 
turned  all  into  a perfect  Arcadia. 

Whether  it  be  owing  to  such  poetical  associa- 
tions early  instilled  into  my  mind,  or  whethei 
there  is  a sympathetic  revival  and  budding  forth 
of  the  feelings  at  this  season,  certain  it  is,  that  1 
always  experience,  wherever  I may  be  placed,  a 
delightful  expansion  of  the  heart  at  the  return  of 
May.  It  is  said  that  birds  about  this  time  will 
become  restless  in  their  cages,  as  if  instinct  with 


MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS. 


m 

the  season,  conscious  of  the  revelry  going  on  in 
the  groves,  and  impatient  to  break  from  their  bond- 
age and  join  in  the  jubilee  of  the  year.  In  like 
manner  I have  felt  myself  excited,  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  metropolis,  when  the  windows,  which 
had  been  churlishly  closed  all  winter,  were  again 
thrown  open  to  receive  the  balmy  breath  of  May ; 
when  the  sweets  of  the  country  were  breathed 
into  the  town,  and  flowers  were  cried  about  the 
streets.  I have  considered  the  treasures  of  flow- 
ers thus  poured  in,  as  so  many  missives  from  na- 
ture inviting  us  forth  to  enjoy  the  virgin  beauty 
of  the  year,  before  its  freshness  is  exhaled  by 
the  heats  of  sunny  summer. 

One  can  readily  imagine  what  a gay  scene  it 
must  have  been  in  jolly  old  London,  when  the 
doors  were  decorated  with  dowering  branches, 
when  every  hat  was  decked  with  hawthorn,  and 
Robin  Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  Maid  Marian,  the  mor- 
ris-dancers, and  all  the  other  fantastic  masks  and 
revellers,  were  performing  their  antics  about  the 
May-pole  in  every  part  of  the  city. 

I am  not  a bigoted  admirer  of  old  times  and 
old  customs  merely  because  of  their  antiquity  ; 
but  while  I rejoice  in  the  decline  of  many  of  the 
rude  usages  and  coarse  amusements  of  former 
days,  I regret  that  this  innocent  and  fanciful  fes- 
tival has  fallen  into  disuse.  It  seemed  appropri- 
ate to  this  verdant  and  pastoral  country,  and 
calculated  to  light  up  the  too  pervading  gravity 
of  the  nation.  I value  every  custom  which  tends 
to  infuse  poetical  feeling  into  the  common  people, 
and  to  sweeten  and  soften  the  rudeness  of  rustic 


310 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


manners,  without  destroying  their  simplicity.  In- 
deed, it  is  to  the  decline  of  this  happy  simplicity 
that  the  decline  of  this  custom  may  be  traced 
and  the  rural  dance  on  the  green,  and  the  homely 
May-day  pageant,  have  gradually  disappeared,  in 
proportion  as  the  peasantry  have  become  expen- 
sive and  artificial  in  their  pleasures,  and  too  know- 
ing for  simple  enjoyment. 

Some  attempts,  the  Squire  informs  me,  have 
been  made  of  late  years,  by  men  of  both  taste 
and  learning,  to  rally  back  the  popular  feeling  to 
these  standards  of  primitive  simplicity ; but  the 
time  has  gone  by,  the  feeling  has  become  chilled 
by  habits  of  gain  and  traffic  ; the  country  apes 
the  manners  and  amusements  of  the  town,  and 
little  is  heard  of  May-day  at  present,  except  from 
the  lamentations  of  authors,  who  sigh  after  it  from 
among  the  brick  walls  of  the  city  : 

41  For  0,  for  0,  the  Hobby  Horse  is  forgot.” 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES. 

Nay,  I tell  you,  I am  so  well  beloved  in  our  town,  that  not  the 
worst  dog  in  the  street  will  hurt  my  little  finger. 

Collier  of  Croydon 

jgl^lS  the  neighboring  village  is  one  of  those 
pigSt Sja  out-of-the-way,  but  gossiping  little  places 
where  a small  matter  makes  a great  stir, 
it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  approach  of  a 
festival  like  that  of  May-day  can  be  regarded  with 
indifference,  especially  since  it  is  made  a matter 
of  such  moment  by  the  great  folks  at  the  Hall. 
Master  Simon,  who  is  the  faithful  factotum  of  the 
worthy  Squire,  and  jumps  with  his  humor  in 
everything,  is  frequent  just  now  in  his  visits  to 
the  village,  to  give  directions  for  the  impending 
fete  ; and  as  I have  taken  the  liberty  occasionally 
of  accompanying  him,  I have  been  enabled  to  get 
some  insight  into  the  characters  and  internal  pol- 
itics of  this  very  sagacious  little  community. 

Master  Simon  is  in  fact  the  Caesar  of  the 
village.  It  is  true  the  Squire  is  the  protecting 
lower,  but  his  factotum  is  the  active  and  busy 
agent.  He  intermeddles  in  all  its  concerns  ; is 
acquainted  with  all  the  inhabitants  and  their  do- 
mestic history ; gives  counsel  to  the  old  folks  in 
their  business  matters,  and  the  young  folks  in 


312 


BRACEBRUGE  IIALL . 


their  love-affairs ; and  enjoys  the  proud  satisfao 
tion  of  being  a great  man  in  a little  world. 

- He  is  the  dispenser,  too,  of  the  Squire’s  char- 
ity, which  is  bounteous ; and,  to  do  Master  Simon 
justice,  he  performs  this  part  of  his  functions  with 
great  alacrity.  Indeed,  I have  been  entertained 
with  the  mixture  of  bustle,  importance,  and  kind- 
heartedness  which  he  displays.  He  is  of  too  vi- 
vacious a temperament  to  comfort  the  afflicted  by 
sitting  down  moping  and  whining  and  blowing 
noses  in  concert ; but  goes  whisking  about  like  a 
sparrow,  chirping  consolation  into  every  hole  and 
corner  of  the  village.  I have  seen  an  old  woman, 
in  a red  cloak,  hold  him  for  half  an  hour  together 
with  some  long  phthisical  tale  of  distress,  which 
Master  Simon  listened  to  with  many  a bob  of  the 
head,  smack  of  his  dog-whip,  and  other  symptoms 
of  impatience,  though  he  afterwards  made  a most 
faithful  and  circumstantial  report  of  the  case  to 
the  Squire.  I have  watched  him,  too,  during  one 
of  his  pop  visits  into  the  cottage  of  a superannu- 
ated villager,  who  is  a pensioner  of  the  Squire, 
where  he  fidgeted  about  the  room  without  sitting 
down,  made  many  excellent  off-hand  reflections 
with  the  old  invalid,  who  was  propped  up  in  his 
chair,  about  the  shortness  of  life,  the  certainty  of 
death,  and  the  necessity  of  preparing  for  u that 
awful  change  ” ; quoted  several  texts  of  Scripture 
very  incorrectly,  but  much  to  the  edification  of 
the  cottager’s  wife ; and  on  coming  out,  pinched 
the  daughter’s  rosy  cheek,  and  wondered  what 
was  -in  the  young  men  that  sucn  a pretty  face 
did  not  get  a husband. 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES . 


313 


He  has  also  his  cabinet  counsellois  in  the 
village,  with  whom  he  is  very  busy  just  now 
preparing  for  the  May-day  ceremonies.  Among 
these  is  the  village  tailor,  a pale-faced  fellow,  who 
plays  the  clarinet  in  the  church-choir ; and,  being 
a great  musical  genius,  has  frequent  meetings  of 
the  band  at  his  house,  where  they  “ make  night 
hideous  ” by  their  concerts.  He  is,  in  consequence, 
high  in  favor  with  Master  Simon ; and,  through 
his  influence,  has  the  making,  or  rather  marring, 
of  all  the  liveries  of  the  Hall ; which  generally 
look  as  though  they  had  been  cut  out  by  one  of 
those  scientific  tailors  of  the  Flying  Island  of 
Laputa,  who  took  measure  of  their  customers 
with  a quadrant.  The  tailor,  in  fact,  might  rise 
to  be  one  of  the  moneyed  men  of  the  village,  was 
he  not  rather  too  prone  to  gossip,  and  keep  holi- 
days, and  give  concerts,  and  blow  all  his  substance, 
real  and  personal,  through  his  clarinet ; which  lit- 
erally keeps  him  poor  both  in  body  and  estate. 
He  has  for  the  present  thrown  by  all  his  regular 
work,  and  suffered  the  breeches  of  the  village  to 
go  unmade  and  unmended,  while  he  is  occupied  in 
making  garlands  of  party-colored  rags,  in  imitation 
of  flowers,  for  the  decoration  of  the  May-pole. 

Another  of  Master  Simon’s  counsellors  is  the 
apothecary,  a short  and  rather  fat  man,  with  a 
pair  of  prominent  eyes,  that  diverge  like  those  of 
a lobster.  He  is  the  village  wise  man  ; very  sen- 
tentious, and  full  of  profound  remarks  on  shal- 
low subjects.  Master  Simon  often  quotes  his  say- 
ings, and  mentions  him  as  rather  an  extraordi- 
nary man ; and  even  consults  him  occasionally  in 


314 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  BALL. 


desperate  cases  of  the  dogs  and  horses.  Indeed, 
lie  seems  to  have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  apoth- 
ecary’s philosophy,  which  is  exactly  one  observa- 
tion deep,  consisting  of  indisputable  maxims  such 
as  may  be  gathered  from  the  mottoes  of  tobacco- 
boxes.  I had  a specimen  of  his  philosophy  in  my 
very  first  conversation  with  him  ; in  the  course 
of  which  he  observed,  with  great  solemnity  and 
emphasis,  that  “ man  is  a compound  of  wisdom  and 
folly  ” ; upon  which  Master  Simon,  who  had  hold 
of  my  arm,  pressed  very  hard  upon  it,  and  whis- 
pered in  my  ear,  “ That ’s  a devilish  shrewd  re 
mark.” 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

There  will  no  mosse  stick  to  the  stone  of  Sisiphus,  no  grasse 
hang  on  the  heeles  of  Mercury,  no  butter  cleave  on  the  bread  of  a 
traveller.  For  as  the  eagle  at  every  flight  loseth  a feather,  which 
maketh  her  bauld  in  her  age,  so  the  traveller  in  every  country  loseth 
some  fleece,  which  maketh  him  a beggar  in  his  youth,  by  buying 
that  for  a pound  which  he  cannot  sell  again  for  a penny  — repent- 
ance.— Lilly’s  Euphues. 


| MONG  the  worthies  of  the  village,  that 
enjoy  the  peculiar  confidence  of  Master 
Simon,  is  one  who  has  struck  my  fancy 
so  much  that  I have  thought  him  worthy  of  a 
separate  notice.  It  is  Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster, 
a thin  elderly  man,  rather  threadbare  and  slovenly, 
somewhat  indolent  in  manner,  and  with  an  easy, 
good-humored  look,  not  often  met  with  in  his  craft 
I have  been  interested  in  his  favor  by  a few  anec- 
dotes which  I have  picked  up  concerning  him. 

He  is  a native  of  the  village,  and  was  a con- 
temporary and  playmate  of  Ready-Money  Jack  in 
the  days  of  their  boyhood.  Indeed,  they  carried 
on  a kind  of  league  of  mutual  good  offices. 
Slingsby  was  rather  puny,  and  withal  somewhat 
of  a coward,  but  very  apt  at  his  learning : Jack, 
on  the  contrary,  was  a bully-boy  out  of  doors, 
but  a sad  laggard  at  his  books.  Slingsby  helped 
Jack,  therefore,  to  all  his  lessons ; Jack  fought  all 


316 


BRA  CKBR1DG E HALL. 


Slingsby’s  battles  ; and  they  were  inseparable 
friends.  This  mutual  kindness  continued  even 
after  they  left  the  school,  notwithstanding  the 
dissimilarity  of  their  characters.  Jack  took  to 
ploughing  and  reaping,  and  prepared  himself  to 
till  his  paternal  acres ; while  the  other  loitered 
negligently  on  in  the  path  of  learning,  until  he 
penetrated  even  into  the  confines  of  Latin  and 
Mathematics. 

In  an  unlucky  hour,  however,  he  took  to  read- 
ing voyages  and  travels,  and  was  smitten  with  a 
desire  to  see  the  world.  This  desire  increased 
upon  him  as  he  grew  up  ; so,  early  one  bright 
sunny  morning,  he  put  all  his  effects  in  a knap- 
sack, slung  it  on  his  back,  took  staff  in  hand, 
and  called  in  his  way  to  take  leave  of  his  early 
schoolmate.  Jack  was  just  going  out  with  the 
plough  : the  friends  shook  hands  over  the  farm- 
house-gate ; Jack  drove  his  team  a-field,  and 
Slingsby  whistled  “ Over  the  hills  and  far  away,” 
and  sallied  forth  gayly  to  “ seek  his  fortune.” 

Years  and  years  passed  away,  and  young  Tom 
Slingsby  was  forgotten ; when,  one  mellow  Sun- 
day afternoon  in  autumn,  a thin  man,  somewhat 
advanced  in  life,  with  a coat  out  at  elbows,  a pair 
of  old  nankeen  gaiters,  and  a few  things  tied  in  a 
handkerchief,  and  slung  on  the  end  of  a stick, 
was  seen  loitering  through  the  village.  He  ap- 
peared to  regard  several  houses  attentively,  to 
peer  into  the  windows  that  were  open,  to  eye  the 
villagers  wistfully  as  they  returned  from  church, 
and  then  to  pass  some  time  in  the  church-yard, 
reading  the  tombstones. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


317 


A.t  length  he  found  his  way  to  the  farm-house 
of  Ready-Money  Jack,  but  paused  ere  he  at- 
tempted the  wicket ; contemplating  the  picture  of 
substantial  independence  before  him.  In  the 
porch  of  the  house  sat  Ready-Money  Jack,  in  his 
Sunday  dress  ; with  his  hat  upon  his  head,  his 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  his  tankard  before  him, 
the  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed.  Beside  him  lay 
his  fat  house-dog.  The  varied  sounds  of  poultry 
were  heard  from  the  well-stocked  farm-yard ; the 
bees  hummed  from  their  hives  in  the  garden  ; the 
cattle  lowed  in  the  rich  meadow ; while  the 
crammed  barns  and  ample  stacks  bore  proof  of 
an  abundant  harvest. 

The  stranger  opened  the  gate  and  advanced 
dubiously  toward  the  house.  The  mastiff  growled 
at  the  sight  of  the  suspicious-looking  intruder, 
but  was  immediately  silenced  by  his  master,  who, 
taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  awaited  with  in- 
quiring aspect  the  address  of  this  equivocal  per- 
sonage. The  stranger  eyed  old  Jack  for  a mo- 
ment, so  portly  in  his  dimensions,  and  decked  out 
in  gorgeous  apparel ; then  cast  a glance  upon  his 
own  threadbare  and  starveling  condition,  and  the 
scanty  bundle  which  he  held  in  his  hand ; then 
giving  his  shrunk  waistcoat  a twitch  to  make  it 
meet  its  receding  waistband,  and  casting  another 
'ook,  half  sad,  half  humorous,  at  the  sturdy  yeo- 
man, “ I suppose,”  said  he,  “ Mr.  Tibbets,  you 
have  forgot  old  times  and  old  playmates.” 

The  latter  gazed  at  him  with  scrutinizing  look, 
but  acknowledged  that  he  had  no  recollection  of 
him. 


318 


BRACLBRWuL  HALL. 


“ Like  enough,  like  enough,’’  said  the  stranger ; 
“ everybody  seems  to  have  forgotten  poor  Sliitgs- 
by ! ” 

“ Why  no,  sure ! it  can’t  be  Tom  Slingsby  ! ” 

“ Yes,  but  it  is  though ! ” replied  the  stranger, 
shaking  his  head. 

lleady-Money  Jack  was  on  his  feet  in  a twink- 
ling, thrust  out  his  hand,  gave  his  ancient  crony 
the  gripe  of  a giant,  and  slapping  the  other  hand 
on  a bench,  “ Sit  down  there,”  cried  he,  u Tom 
Slingsby ! ” 

A long  conversation  ensued  about  old  times, 
while  Slingsby  was  regaled  with  the  best  cheer 
that  the  farmhouse  afforded ; for  he  was  hungry 
as  well  as  way-worn,  and  had  the  keen  appetite 
of  a poor  pedestrian.  The  early  playmates  then 
talked  over  their  subsequent  lives  and  adventures. 
Jack  had  but  little  to  relate,  and  was  never  good 
at  a long  story.  A prosperous  life,  passed  at 
home,  has  little  incident  for  narrative ; it  is  only 
poor  devils,  that  are  tossed  about  the  world,  that 
are  the  true  heroes  of  story.  Jack  had  stuck  by 
the  paternal  farm,  followed  the  same  plough  that 
Ills  forefathers  had  driven,  and  had  waxed  richer 
and  richer  as  he  grew  older.  As  to  Tom  Slings- 
by, he  was  an  exemplification  of  the  old  proverb, 
“ a rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss.”  He  had  sought 
his  fortune  about  the  world,  without  ever  find- 
ing it ; being  a thing  oftener  found  at  home  than 
abroad.  He  had  been  in  all  kinds  of  situations, 
and  had  learnt  a dozen  different  modes  of  mak- 
ing a living ; but  had  found  his  way  back  to  his 
native  village  rather  poorer  tl  an  when  le  left  it* 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER . 


319 


liis  knapsack  having  dwindled  down  to  a scanty 
bundle. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  Squire  was  passing 
by  the  farmhouse  that  very  evening,  and  called 
there,  as  is  often  his  custom.  He  found  the  two 
schoolmates  still  gossiping  in  the  porch,  and,  ac- 
cording to  the  good  old  Scottish  song,  “ taking  a 
cup  of  kindness  yet,  for  auld  lang  syne.”  The 
Squire  was  struck  by  the  contrast  in  appearance 
and  fortunes  of  these  early  playmates.  Ready- 
Money  Jack,  seated  in  lordly  state,  surrounded 
by  the  good  things  of  this  life,  with  golden 
guineas  hanging  to  his  very  watch-chain  ; and  the 
poor  pilgrim  Slingsby,  thin  as  a weasel,  with  all 
his  worldly  effects,  his  bundle,  hat,  and  walking- 
staff,  lying  on  the  ground  beside  him. 

The  good  Squire’s  heart  warmed  towards  the 
luckless  cosmopolite,  for  he  is  a little  prone  to 
like  such  half-vagrant  characters.  He  cast  about 
in  his  mind  how  he  should  contrive  once  more  to 
anchor  Slingsby  in  his  native  village.  Honest 
Jack  had  already  offered  him  a present  shelter 
under  his  roof,  in  spite  of  the  hints,  and  winks, 
and  half  remonstrances  of  the  shrewd  Dame  Tib- 
bets  ; but  how  to  provide  for  his  permanent  main- 
tenance, was  the  question.  Luckily,  the  Squire 
bethought  himself  that  the  village  school  was 
without  a teacher.  A little  further  conversation 
convinced  him  that  Slingsby  was  as  fit  for  that  as 
for  anything  else,  and  in  a day  or  two  he  was  seen 
swaying  the  rod  of  empire  in  the  very  school- 
house  where  he  had  often  been  horsed  in  the  days 
of  his  boyhood. 


320 


BRA  CEB R ID  (J E HALL . 


Here  he  lias  remained  for  several  years,  and, 
being  honored  by  the  countenance  of  the  Squire, 
and  the  fast  friendship  of  Mr.  Tibbets,  he  has 
grown  into  much  importance  and  consideration 
in  the  village.  I am  told,  however,  that  he  still 
shows,  now  and  then,  a degree  of  restlessness,  and 
a disposition  to  rove  abroad  again,  and  see  a little 
more  of  the  world, — an  inclination  which  seems 
particularly  to  haunt  him  about  spring  - time. 
There  is  nothing  so  difficult  to  conquer  as  the 
vagrant  humor,  when  once  it  has  been  fully  in- 
dulged. 

Since  I have  heard  these  anecdotes  of  poor 
Slingsby,  I have  more  than  once  mused  upon  the 
picture  presented  by  him  and  his  schoolmate 
Ready-Money  Jack,  on  their  coming  together  again 
after  so  long  a separation.  It  is  difficult  to  deter- 
mine between  lots  in  life,  where  each  is  attended 
with  its  peculiar  discontents.  He  who  never 
leaves  his  home,  repines  at  his  monotonous  exist- 
ence, and  envies  the  traveller,  whose  life  is  a con- 
stant tissue  of  wonder  and  adventure ; while  he 
who  is  tossed  about  the  world  looks  back  with  many 
a sigh  to  the  safe  and  quiet  shore  which  he  has 
abandoned.  I cannot  help  thinking,  however, 
that  the  man  who  stays  at  home,  and  cultivates 
the  comforts  and  pleasures  daily  springing  up 
around  him,  stands  the  best  chance  for  happiness. 
There  is  nothing  so  fascinating  to  a young  mind 
as  the  idea  of  travelling  ; and  there  is  very  witch- 
craft in  the  old  phrase  found  in  every  nursery 
tale,  of  “ going  to  seek  one’s  fortune.”  A con- 
tinual change  of  place,  and  change  of  object, 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


321 


promises  a continual  succession  of  adventure  and 
gratification  of  curiosity.  But  there  is  a limit 
to  all  our  enjoyments,  and  every  desire  bears  its 
death  in  its  very  gratification.  Curiosity  lan- 
guishes under  repeated  stimulants ; novelties 
cease  to  excite  surprise  ; until  at  length  we  can- 
not wonder  even  at  a miracle. 

He  who  has  sallied  forth  into  the  world,  like 
poor  Slingsby,  full  of  sunny  anticipations,  finds 
too  soon  how  different  the  distant  scene  becomes 
when  visited.  The  smooth  place  roughens  as  he 
approaches ; the  wild  place  becomes  tame  and 
barren ; the  fairy  tints  which  beguiled  him  on, 
still  fly  to  the  distant  hill,  or  gather  upon  the  land 
he  has  left  behind ; and  every  part  of  the  land- 
scape seems  greener  than  the  spot  he  stands  on 

21 


THE  SCHOOL. 

But  to  come  down  from  great  men  and  higher  matters  to  my  little 
rhildren  and  poor  schoolhouse  again  ; I will,  God  willing,  go  forward 
orderly,  as  I purposed,  to  instruct  poor  children  and  young  men 
both  for  learning  and  manners.  — Roger  Ascham. 


j AVING  given  the  reader  a slight  sketch 
of  the  village  schoolmaster,  he  may  be 
curious  to  learn  something  concerning 
his  school.  As  the  Squire  takes  much  interest 
in  the  education  of  the  neighboring  children,  he 
put  into  the  hands  of  the  teacher,  on  first  install- 
ing him  in  office,  a copy  of  Roger  Ascham’s 
Schoolmaster,  and  advised  him,  moreover,  to  con 
over  that  portion  of  old  Peach em  which  treats 
of  the  duty  of  masters,  and  which  condemns  the 
favorite  method  of  making  boys  wise  by  flagella- 
tion. 

He  exhorted  Slingsby  not  to  break  down  or 
depress  the  free  spirit  of  the  boys,  by  harshness 
and  slavish  fear,  but  to  lead  them  freely  and  joy- 
ously on  in  the  path  of  knowledge,  making  it 
pleasant  and  desirable  in  their  eyes.  He  wished 
to  see  the  youth  trained  up  in  the  manners  and 
habitudes  of  the  peasantry  of  tin  good  old  times, 
and  thus  to  lay  a foundation  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  favorite  object,  the  revival  of  old 


THE  SCHOOL. 


323 


English  customs  and  character.  He  recommended 
that  all  the  ancient  holidays  should  be  observed, 
and  the  sports  of  the  boys,  in  their  hours  of  play, 
regulated  according  to  the  standard  authorities 
laid  down  in  Strutt ; a copy  of  whose  invaluable 
work,  decorated  with  plates,  was  deposited  in  the 
school-house.  Above  all,  he  exhorted  the  peda- 
gogue to  abstain  from  the  use  of  birch : an  instru- 
ment of  instruction  which  the  good  Squire  regards 
as  fit  only  for  the  coercion  of  brute  natures,  that 
cannot  be  reasoned  with. 

Mr.  Slingsby  has  followed  the  Squire’s  instruc- 
tions to  the  best  of  his  disposition  and  ability. 
He  never  flogs  the  boys,  because  he  is  too  easy, 
good-humored  a creature  to  inflict  pain  on  a worm. 
He  is  bountiful  in  holidays,  because  he  loves  holi- 
days himself,  and  has  a sympathy  with  the  urchins’ 
impatience  of  confinement,  from  having  divers 
times  experienced  its  irksomeness  during  the  time 
that  he  was  seeing  the  world.  As  to  sports  and 
pastimes,  the  boys  are  faithfully  exercised  in  all 
that  are  on  record  : quoits,  races,  prison-bars,  tip- 
cat,  trap-ball,  bandy-ball,  wrestling,  leaping,  and 
what  not.  The  only  misfortune  is,  that,  having 
banished  the  birch,  honest  Slingsby  has  not  studied 
Roger  Ascham  sufficiently  to  find  out  a substitute, 
or,  rather,  he  has  not  the  management  in  his  na- 
ture to  apply  one  ; his  school,  therefore,  though 
one  of  the  happiest,  is  one  of  the  most  unruly 
in  the  country ; and  never  was  a pedagogue 
more  liked,  or  less  heeded,  by  his  disciples  than 
Slingsby. 

He  has  lately  taken  a coadjutor  worthy  of  him- 


324 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


self ; being  another  stray  sheep  returned  to  the 
village  fold.  This  is  no  other  than  the  son  of  the 
musical  tailor,  who  had  bestowed  some  cost  upon 
his  education,  hoping  one  day  to  see  him  ar- 
rive at  the  dignity  of  an  exciseman,  or  at  least 
of  a parish  clerk.  The  lad  grew  up,  however,  as 
idle  and  musical  as  his  father  ; and,  being  capti- 
vated by  the  drum  and  fife  of  a recruiting  party, 
followed  them  off  to  the  army.  He  returned  not 
long  since,  out  of  money,  and  out  at  elbows, 
the  prodigal  son  of  the  village.  He  remained  for 
some  time  lounging  about  the  place  in  half-tat- 
tered  soldier’s  dress,  with  a foraging  cap  on  one 
side  of  his  head,  jerking  stones  across  the  brook, 
or  loitering  about  the  tavern-door,  a burden  to 
his  father,  and  regarded  with  great  coldness  by  all 
warm  householders. 

Something,  however,  drew  honest  Slingsby 
towards  the  youth.  It  might  be  the  kindness  he 
bore  to  his  father,  who  is  one  of  the  schoolmas- 
ter’s great  cronies  ; it  might  be  that  secret  sym- 
pathy which  draws  men  of  vagrant  propensities 
toward  each  other  ; for  there  is  something  truly 
magnetic  in  the  vagabond  feeling ; or  it  might  be 
that  he  remembered  the  time  when  he  himself 
had  come  back  like  this  youngster,  a wreck  to  his 
native  place.  At  any  rate,  whatever  the  motive, 
Slingsby  drew  towards  the  youth.  They  had 
many  conversations  in  the  village  tap-room  about 
foreign  parts,  and  the  various  scenes  and  places 
they  had  witnessed  during  their  wayfaring  about 
the  world.  The  more  Slingsby  talked  with  him, 
the  more  he  found  him  to  his  taste  ; and  finding 


THE  SCHOOL. 


325 


him  almost  as  learned  as  himself,  he  forthwith  en- 
gaged him  as  an  assistant,  or  usher,  in  the  school. 

Under  such  admirable  tuition,  the  school,  as 
may  be  supposed,  flourishes  apace  ; and  if  the 
scholars  do  not  become  versed  in  all  the  holiday 
accomplishments  of  the  good  old  times,  to  the 
Squire’s  heart’s  content,  it  will  not  be  the  fault  of 
their  teachers.  The  prodigal  son  has  become  al- 
most as  popular  among  the  boys  as  the  pedagogue 
himself.  His  instructions  are  not  limited  to  school- 
hours  ; and  having  inherited  the  musical  taste 
and  talents  of  his  father,  he  has  bitten  the  whole 
school  with  the  mania.  He  is  a great  hand  at 
beating  a drum,  which  is  often  heard  rumbling 
from  the  rear  of  the  school-house.  He  is  teaching 
half  the  boys  of  the  village,  also,  to  play  the  fife, 
and  the  pandean  pipes  ; and  they  weary  the  whole 
neighborhood  with  therr  vague  pipings,  as  they  sit 
perched  on  stiles,  or  loitering  about  the  barn-doors 
in  the  evenings.  Among  the  other  exercises  of 
the  school,  also,  he  has  introduced  the  ancient  art 
of  archery,  one  of  the  Squire’s  favorite  themes, 
with  such  success,  that  the  whipsters  roam  in  tru- 
ant bands  about  the  neighborhood,  practising  with 
their  bows  and  arrows  upon  the  birds  of  the  air, 
and  the  beasts  of  the  field  ; and  not  unfrequently 
making  a foray  into  the  Squire’s  domains,  to  the 
great  indignation  of  the  gamekeepers.  In  a word, 
so  completely  are  the  ancient  English  customs 
and  habits  cultivated  at  this  school,  that  I should 
not  be  surprised  if  the  Squire  should  live  to  see 
one  of  his  poetic  visions  realized,  and  a brood 
veared  up,  worthy  successors  to  Robin  Hood,  and 
his  merry  gang  of  outlaws. 


A VILLAGE  POLITICIAN. 

I am  a rogue  if  I do  not  think  I was  designed  for  the  helm  of 
state;  I am  so  full  of  nimble  stratagems,  that  I should  have  ordered 
affairs,  and  carried  it  against  the  stream  of  a faction,  with  as  much 
ease  as  a skipper  would  laver  against  the  wind.  — The  Goblins. 

gWfgjjN  one  of  my  visits  to  the  village  with 
jig  gBgSj  Master  Simon,  he  proposed  that  we 
feSfiSSl!  should  stop  at  the  inn,  which  he  wished 
to  show  me,  as  a specimen  of  a real  country  inn, 
the  headquarters  of  village  gossip.  I had  re- 
marked it  before,  in  my  perambulations  about  the 
place.  It  has  a deep  old-fashioned  porch,  leading 
into  a large  hall,  which  serves  for  tap-room  and 
travellers’-room  ; having  a wide  fireplace,  with 
high-backed  settles  on  each  side,  where  the  wise 
men  of  the  village  gossip  over  their  ale,  and  hold 
their  sessions  during  the  long  winter  evenings. 
The  landlord  is  an  easy,  indolent  fellow,  shaped 
a little  like  one  of  his  own  beer-barrels,  and  is  apt 
to  stand  gossiping  at  his  own  door,  with  his  wig 
on  one  side,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whilst 
his  wife  and  daughter  attend  to  customers.  His 
wife,  however,  is  fully  competent  to  manage  the 
establishment ; and,  indeed,  from  long  habitude, 
rules  over  all  the  frequenters  of  the  tap-room  as 
completely  as  if  they  were  her  dependents  and 


A VILLAGE  POLITICIAN. 


827 


not  her  patrons.  Not  a veteran  ale-bibber  but 
pays  homage  to  her,  having,  no  doubt,  often  been 
in  her  arrears.  I have  already  hinted  that  she  is 
on  very  good  terms  with  Ready-Money  Jack. 
He  was  a sweetheart  of  hers  in  early  life,  and  has 
always  countenanced  the  tavern  on  her  account. 
Indeed,  he  is  quite  a “ cock  of  the  walk  ” at  the 
tap -room. 

As  we  approached  the  inn,  we  heard  some  one 
talking  with  great  volubility,  and  distinguished 
the  ominous  words,  “ taxes,”  “ poor’s  rates,”  and 
“agricultural  distress.”  It  proved  to  be  a thin, 
loquacious  fellow,  who  had  penned  the  landlord 
up  in  one  corner  of  the  porch,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  listening  with  an  air  of  the  most  va- 
cant acquiescence. 

The  sight  seemed  to  have  a curious  effect  on 
Master  Simon,  as  he  squeezed  my  arm,  and  alter- 
ing his  course,  sheered  wide  of  the  porch,  as 
though  he  had  not  had  any  idea  of  entering. 
This  evident  evasion  induced  me  to  notice  the 
orator  more  particularly.  He  was  meagre,  but 
active  in  his  make,  with  a long,  pale,  bilious  face  ; 
a black  beard,  so  ill-shaven  as  to  leave  marks  of 
blood  on  his  shirt-collar;  a feverish  eye,  and  a 
hat  sharpened  up  at  the  sides  into  a most  prag- 
matical shape.  He  had  a newspaper  in  his  hand, 
and  seemed  to  be  commenting  on  its  contents,  to 
the  thorough  conviction  of  mine  host. 

At  sight  of  Master  Simon  the  landlord  was  evi- 
dently a little  flurried,  and  began  to  rub  his  hands, 
edge  away  from  his  corner,  and  make  several  pro- 
found publican  bows  ; while  the  orator  took  no 


328 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


other  notice  of  my  companion  than  to  talk  rathei 
louder  than  before,  and  with  as  I thought,  some- 
thing of  an  air  of  defiance.  Master  Simon,  how- 
ever, as  I have  before  said,  sheered  off  from  the 
porch,  and  passed  on,  pressing  my  arm  within  his, 
and  whispering  as  we  got  by,  in  a tone  of  awe 
and  horror,  “ That ’s  a radical ! he  reads  Cob- 
bett ! ” 

I endeavored  to  get  a more  particular  account 
of  him  from  my  companion,  but  he  seemed  un- 
willing even  to  talk  about  him,  answering  only  in 
general  terms,  that  he  was  “ a cursed  busy  fellow, 
that  had  a confounded  trick  of  talking,  and  was 
apt  to  bother  one  about  the  national  debt,  and  such 
nonsense  ; ” from  which  I suspected  that  Master 
Simon  had  been  rendered  wary  of  him  by  some 
accidental  encounter  on  the  field  of  argument ; 
for  these  radicals  are  continually  roving  about  in 
quest  of  wordy  warfare,  and  never  so  happy  as 
when  they  can  tilt  a gentleman  logician  out  of 
his  saddle. 

On  subsequent  inquiry  my  suspicions  have  been 
confirmed.  I find  the  radical  has  but  recently 
found  his  way  into  the  village,  where  he  threatens 
to  commit  fearful  devastations  with  his  doctrines. 
He  has  already  made  two  or  three  complete  con- 
verts, or  new  lights ; has  shaken  the  faith  of 
several  others ; and  has  grievously  puzzled  the 
brains  of  many  of  the  oldest  villagers,  who  had 
never  thought  about  politics,  nor  scarce  anything 
else,  during  their  whole  lives. 

He  is  lean  and  meagre  from  the  constant  rest- 
lessness of  mind  and  body ; worrying  about  with 


A VILLAGE  POLITICIAN . 


newspapers  and  pamphlets  in  his  pockets,  which 
he  is  ready  to  pull  out  on  all  occasions.  He  has 
shocked  several  of  the  stanchest  villagers,  hy 
talking  lightly  of  the  Squire  and  his  family ; 
and  hinting  that  it  would  be  better  the  park 
should  be  cut  up  into  small  farms  and  kitchen- 
gardens,  or  feed  good  mutton  instead  of  worthless 
deer. 

He  is  a great  thorn  in  the  sight  of  the  Squire* 
who  is  sadly  afraid  that  he  will  introduce  politics 
into  the  village,  and  turn  it  into  an  unhappy, 
thinking  community.  He  is  a still  greater  griev- 
ance to  Master  Simon,  who  has  hitherto  been 
able  to  sway  the  political  opinions  of  the  place, 
without  much  cost  of  learning  or  logic ; but  has 
been  much  puzzled  of  late  to  weed  out  the  doubts 
and  heresies  already  sown  by  this  champion  of  re-  ✓ 
form.  Indeed,  the  latter  has  taken  complete  com- 
mand at  the  tap-room  of  the  tavern,  not  so  much 
because  he  has  convinced,  as  because  he  has  out- 
talked all  the  old-established  oracles.  The  apoth- 
ecary, with  all  his  philosophy,  was  as  naught 
before  him.  He  has  convinced  and  converted  the 
landlord  at  least  a dozen  times ; who,  however, 
is  liable  to  be  convinced  and  converted  the  other 
way  by  the  next  person  with  whom  he  talks.  It 
is  true  the  radical  has  a violent  antagonist  in  the 
landlady,  who  is  vehemently  loyal,  and  thorough- 
ly devoted  to  the  king,  Master  Simon,  and  the 
Squire.  She  now  and  then  comes  out  upon  the 
reformer  with  all  the  fierceness  of  a cat-o’-moun- 
tain, and  does  not  spare  her  own  soft-headed  hus* 
band  for  listening  to  what  she  terms  such  “ low 


330 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


lived  politics.”  What  makes  the  good  woman 
the  more  violent,  is  the  perfect  coolness  with 
which  the  radical  listens  to  her  attacks,  drawing 
his  face  up  into  a provoking,  supercilious  smile ; 
and  when  she  has  talked  herself  out  of  breath, 
quietly  asking  her  for  a taste  of  her  home- 
brewed. 

The  only  person  in  any  way  a match  for  this 
redoubtable  politician  is  Ready-Money  Jack  Tib- 
bets  ; who  maintains  his  stand  in  the  tap-room, 
in  defiance  of  the  radical  and  all  his  works.  Jack 
is  one  of  the  most  loyal  men  in  the  country,  with- 
out being  able  to  reason  about  the  matter.  He 
has  that  admirable  quality  for  a tough  arguer, 
also,  that  he  never  knows  when  he  is  beat.  He 
has  half  a dozen  old  maxims,  which  he  advances 
on  all  occasions,  and  though  his  antagonist  may 
overturn  them  ever  so  often,  yet  he  always  brings 
them  anew  to  the  field.  He  is  like  the  robber  in 
Ariosto,  who,  though  his  head  might  be  cut  off 
half  a hundred  times,  yet  whipped  it  on  his  shoul- 
ders again  in  a twinkling,  and  returned  as  sound 
a man  as  ever  to  the  charge. 

Whatever  does  not  square  with  Jack’s  simple 
and  obvious  creed,  he  sets  down  for  “ French 
politics  ” ; for,  notwithstanding  the  peace,  he  can- 
not be  persuaded  that  the  French  are  no'  still 
raying  plots  to  ruin  the  nation,  and  to  get  hold  of 
the  Bank  of  England.  The  radical  attempted  to 
overwhelm  him  one  day  by  a long  passage  from 
a newspaper ; but  Jack  neither  reads  nor  believes 
in  newspapers.  In  reply,  he  gave  him  one  of  the 
Hanzas  which  he  has  by  heart  from  his  favorite, 


A VILLAGE  POLITICIAN. 


331 


and  indeed  only  author,  old  Tusser,  and  which  he 
calls  his  Golden  Rules  : 

“ Leave  princes’  affairs  undescanted  on, 

And  tend  to  such  doings  as  stand  thee  upon ; 

Fear  God,  and  offend  not  the  king  nor  his  laws, 

And  keep  thyself  out  of  the  magistrate’s  claws.” 

When  Tibbets  had  pronounced  this  with  great 
emphasis,  he  pulled  out  a well-filled  leathern 
purse,  took  out  a handful  of  gold  and  silver,  paid 
his  score  at  the  bar  with  great  punctuality,  re- 
turned his  money,  piece  by  piece,  into  his  purse, 
his  purse  into  his  pocket,  which  he  buttoned  up ; 
and  then,  giving  his  cudgel  a stout  thump  upon 
the  floor,  and  bidding  the  radical  “ good  morning, 
sir  ! ” with  the  tone  of  a man  who  conceives  he 
has  completely  done  for  his  antagonist,  he  walked 
with  lionlike  gravity  out  of  the  house.  Two  or 
three  of  Jack’s  admirers  who  were  present,  and 
had  been  afraid  to  take  the  field  themselves, 
looked  upon  this  as  a perfect  triumph,  and  winked 
at  each  other  when  the  radical’s  back  was  turned. 
“Ay,  ay ! ” said  mine  host,  as  soon  as  the  radical 
was  out  of  hearing,  “ let  old  Jack  alone ; I ’U 
warrant  he  ’ll  give  him  his  own  ! ” 


THE  ROOKERY. 


But  cawing ‘rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles ; screaming  loud, 

The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e’en  the  boding  owl, 

That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. 

Cowper 


a grove  of  tall  oaks  and  beeches,  that 
rowns  a terrace-walk,  just  on  the  skirts 
f the  garden,  is  an  ancient  rookery; 
which  is  one  of  the  most  important  provinces  in 
the  Squire’s  rural  domains.  The  old  gentleman 
sets  great  store  by  his  rooks,  and  will  not  suffer 
one  of  them  to  be  killed  ; in  consequence  of  which 
they  have  increased  amazingly  : the  tree-tops  are 
loaded  with  their  nests  ; they  have  encroached 
upon  the  great  avenue,  and  even  established  in 
times  long  past  a Colony  among  the  elms  and 
pines  of  the  church-yard,  which,  like  other  distant 
colonies,  has  already  thrown  off  allegiance  to  the 
mother-country. 

The  rooks  are  looked  upon  by  the  Squire  as  a 
very  ancient  and  honorable  line  of  gentry,  highly 
aristocratical  in  their  notions,  fond  of  place,  and 
attached  to  church  and  state  ; as  their  building 
so  loftily,  keeping  about  churches  and  cathedrals, 
and  in  the  venerable  groves  of  old  castles  and 
manor-houses,  sufficiently  manifests.  The  good 


THE  ROOKERY. 


333 


opinion  thus  expressed  by  the  Squire  put  me 
upon  observing  more  narrowly  these  very  re- 
spectable birds  ; for  I confess,  to  my  shame,  I 
had  been  apt  to  confound  them  with  their  cousins- 
german  the  crows,  to  whom,  at  the  first  glance, 
they  bear  so  great  a family  resemblance.  Noth- 
ing, it  seems,  could  be  more  unjust  or  injurious 
than  such  a mistake.  The  rooks  and  crows  are, 
among  the  feathered  tribes,  what  the  Spaniards 
and  Portuguese  are  among  nations,  — the  least 
loving,  in  consequence  of  their  neighborhood  and 
similarity.  The  rooks  are  old-established  house- 
keepers, high-minded  gentlefolk,  who  have  had 
their  hereditary  abodes  time  out  of  mind  ; but  as 
to  the  poor  crows,  they  are  a kind  of  vagabond, 
predatory,  gypsy  race,  roving  about  the  country 
without  any  settled  home ; “ their  hands  are 
against  everybody,  and  everybody’s  against  them,” 
and  they  are  gibbeted  in  every  cornfield.  Master 
Simon  assures  me  that  a female  rook,  who  should 
so  far  forget  herself  as  to  consort  with  a crow, 
would  inevitably  be  disinherited,  and  indeed 
would  be  totally  discarded  by  all  her  genteel  ac- 
quaintance. 

The  Squire  is  very  watchful  over  the  interests 
and  concerns  of  his  sable  neighbors.  As  to  Mas- 
ter Simon,  he  even  pretends  to  know  many  of 
them  by  sight,  and  to  have  given  names  to  them  ; 
he  points  out  several,  which  he  says  are  old  heads 
of  families,  and  compares  them  to  worthy  old  cit- 
izens, beforehand  in  the  world,  that  wear  cocked 
hats,  and  silver  buckles  in  their  shoes.  Notwith- 
standing the  protecting  benevolence  of  the  Squire, 


334 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  I1A1.L. 


and  their  being  residents  in  liis  empire,  they  seem 
to  acknowledge  no  allegiance,  and  to  hold  no  in- 
tercourse or  intimacy.  Their  airy  tenements  are 
built  almost  out  of  the  reach  of  gunshot ; and 
notwithstanding  their  vicinity  to  the  Hall,  they 
maintain  a most  reserved  and  distrustful  shyness 
of  mankind. 

* There  is  one  season  of  the  year,  however, 
which  brings  all  birds  in  a manner  to  a level,  and 
tames  the  pride  of  the  loftiest  high-flier,  which  is 
the  season  of  building  their  nests.  This  takes 
place  early  in  the  spring,  when  the  forest-trees 
first  begin  to  show  their  buds,  and  the  long,  withy 
ends  of  the  branches  to  turn  green  ; when  the  wild 
strawberry  and  other  herbage  of  the  sheltered 
woodlands  put  forth  their  tender  and  tinted  leaves  ; 
and  the  daisy  and  the  primrose  peep  from  under 
the  hedges.  At  this  time  there  is  a general  bustle 
among  the  feathered  tribes ; an  incessant  flut- 
tering about,  and  a cheerful  chirping ; indicative, 
like  the  germination  of  the  vegetable  world,  of 
the  reviving  life  and  fecundity  of  the  year. 

It  is  then  that  the  rooks  forget  their  usual 
stateliness,  and  their  shy  and  lofty  habits.  Instead 
of  keeping  up  in  the  high  regions  of  the  air, 
swinging  on  the  breezy  tree-tops,  and  looking 
down  with  sovereign  contempt  upon  the  humble 
crawlers  upon  earth,  they  are  fain  to  throw  off 
for  a time  the  dignity  of  the  gentleman,  to  come 
down  to  the  ground,  and  put  on  the  painstaking 
and  industrious  character  of  a laborer.  They  now 
lose  their  natural  shyness,  become  fearless  and 
familiar,  and  may  be  seen  plying  about  in  all  di- 


THE  ROOKERY. 


335 


rections,  with  an  air  of  great  assiduity,  in  search 
of  building-materials.  Every  now  and  then  your 
path  will  be  crossed  by  one  of  these  busy  old 
gentlemen,  worrying  about  with  awkward  gait,  as 
if  troubled  with  the  gout,  or  with  corns  on  his 
toes  ; casting  about  many  a prying  look  ; turning 
down  first  one  eye,  then  the  other,  in  earnest  con- 
sideration, upon  every  straw  he  meets  with  ; until, 
espying  some  mighty  twig,  large  enough  to  make 
a rafter  for  his  air-castle,  he  will  seize  upon  it 
with  avidity,  and  hurry  away  with  it  to  the  tree- 
top  ; fearing,  apparently,  lest  you  should  dispute 
with  him  the  invaluable  prize. 

Like  other  castle-builders,  these  airy  architects 
seem  rather  fanciful  in  the  materials  with  which 
they  build,  and  to  like  those  most  which  come 
from  a distance.  Thus,  though  there  are  abun- 
dance of  dry  twigs  on  the  surrounding  trees,  yet 
they  never  think  of  making  use  of  them,  but  go 
foraging  in  distant  lands,  and  come  sailing  home 
one  by  one,  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  each  bear- 
ing in  his  bill  some  precious  piece  of  timber. 

Nor  must  I avoid  mentioning,  what,  I grieve 
to  say,  rather  derogates  from  the  grave  and  hon- 
orable character  of  these  ancient  gentlefolk,  that, 
during  the  architectural  season,  they  are  subject 
to  great  dissensions  among  themselves  ; that  they 
make  no  scruple  to  defraud  and  plunder  each 
other ; and  that  sometimes  the  rookery  is  a scene 
of  hideous  brawl  and  commotion,  in  consequence 
of  some  delinquency  of  the  kind.  One  of  the 
partners  generally  remains  on  the  nest  to  guard 
it  from  depredation ; and  I have  seen  severe  con- 


336 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


tests,  when  some  sly  neighbor  has  endeavored  to 
filch  away  a tempting  rafter  that  had  captivated 
his  eye.  As  I am  not  willing  hastily  to  admit 
any  suspicion  derogatory  to  the  general  character 
of  so  worshipful  a people.,  I am  inclined  to  think 
these  larcenies  discountenanced  by  the  higher 
classes,  and  even  rigorously  punished  by  those  in 
authority ; for  I have  now  and  then  seen  a whole 
gang  of  rooks  fall  upon  the  nest  of  some  indi- 
vidual, pull  it  all  to  pieces,  carry  off  the  spoils,  and 
even  buffet  the  luckless  proprietor.  I have  con- 
cluded this  to  be  a signal  punishment  inflicted  upon 
him,  by  the  officers  of  the  police,  for  some  pilfering 
misdemeanor ; or,  perhaps,  that  it  was  a crew  of 
bailiffs  carrying  an  execution  into  his  house. 

I have  been  amused  with  another  of  their 
movements  during  the  building-season.  The  stew- 
ard has  suffered  a considerable  number  of  sheep 
to  graze  on  a lawn  near  the  house,  somewhat  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  Squire,  who  thinks  this  an 
innovation  on  the  dignity  of  a park,  which  ought 
to  be  devoted  to  deer  onlj.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
there  is  a green  knoll,  not  far  from  the  drawing- 
room window,  where  the  ewes  and  lambs  are  ac- 
customed to  assemble  towards  evening,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  setting  sun.  No  sooner  were  they 
gathered  here,  at  the  time  when  these  politic  birds 
were  building,  than  a stately  old  rook,  who  Mas- 
ter Simon  assured  me  was  the  chief  magistrate 
of  this  community,  would  settle  down  upon  the 
head  of  one  of  the  ewes,  who,  seeming  uncon- 
scious of  this  condescension,  would  desist  from 
grazing,  and  stand  fixed  in  motionless  reverence 


TEE  ROOKERY. 


337 


of  her  august  burden ; the  rest  of  the  rookery 
would  then  come  wheeling  down,  in  imitation  of 
their  leader,  until  every  ewe  had  two  or  three  of 
them  cawing,  and  fluttering,  and  battling  upon 
her  back.  Whether  they  requited  the  submission 
of  the  sheep  by  levying  a contribution  upon  their 
fleece  for  the  benefit  of  the  rookery,  I am  not  cer- 
tain ; though  I presume  they  followed  the  usual 
custom  of  protecting  powers. 

The  latter  part  of  May  is  the  time  of  great 
tribulation  among  the  rookeries,  when  the  young 
are  just  able  to  leave  the  nests,  and  balance  them 
lelves  on  the  neighboring  branches.  Now  comes 
^>n  the  season  of  “ rook-shooting,”  — a terrible 
^laughter  of  the  innocents.  The  Squire,  of  course, 
prohibits  all  invasion  of  the  kind  on  his  territo- 
ries ; but  I am  told  that  a lamentable  havoc  takes 
place  in  the  colony  about  the  old  church.  Upon 
this  devoted  commonwealth  the  village  charges 
“ with  all  its  chivalry.”  Every  idle  wight,  lucky 
enough  to  possess  an  old  gun  or  blunderbuss,  to- 
gether with  all  the  archery  of  Slingsby’s  school, 
takes  the  field  on  the  occasion.  In  vain  does  the 
little  parson  interfere,  or  remonstrate,  in  angry 
tones,  from  his  study-window  that  looks  into  the 
church-yard ; there  is  a continual  popping  from 
morning  till  night.  Being  no  great  marksmen, 
their  shots  are  not  often  effective ; but  every  now 
and  then  a great  shout  from  the  besieging  army 
of1  bumpkins  makes  known  the  downfall  of  some 
unlucky  squab  rook,  which  comes  to  the  ground 
with  the  emphasis  of  a squashed  apple-dumpling. 

Nor  is  the  rookery  entirely  free  from  other 
22 


338 


BRACEBR1DGE  TIALL. 


troubles  and  disasters.  In  so  aristocratical  and 
lofty-minded  a community,  which  boasts  so  much 
ancient  blood  and  hereditary  pride,  it  is  natural 
to  suppose  that  questions  of  etiquette  will  some- 
times arise,  and  affairs  of  honor  ensue.  In  fact, 
this  is  very  often  the  case  ; bitter  quarrels  break 
out  between  individuals,  which  produce  sad  scuf- 
flings  on  the  tree-tops,  and  I have  more  than  once 
seen  a regular  duel  between  two  doughty  heroes 
of  the  rookery.  Their  field  of  battle  is  generally 
the  air  ; and  their  contest  is  managed  in  the  most 
scientific  and  elegant  manner ; wheeling  round 
and  round  each  other,  and  towering  higher  and 
higher,  to  get  the  vantage-ground,  until  they  some- 
times disappear  in  the  clouds  before  the  combat 
is  determined. 

They  have  also  fierce  combats  now  and  then 
with  an  invading  hawk,  and  will  drive  him  off 
from  their  territories  by  a posse  comitatus.  They 
are  also  extremely  tenacious  of  their  domains,  and 
will  suffer  no  other  bird  to  inhabit  the  grove  or 
its  vicinity.  A very  ancient  and  respectable  old- 
bachelor  owl  had  for  a long  time  his  lodgings  in 
a corner  of  the  grove,  but  has  been  fairly  ejected 
by  the  rooks  ; and  has  retired,  disgusted  with  the 
world,  to  a neighboring  wood,  where  he  leads  the 
life  of  a hermit,'  and  makes  nightly  complaints  of 
his  ill  treatment. 

The  hootings  of  this  unhappy  gentleman  may 
generally  be  heard  in  the  still  evenings,  when  the 
rooks  are  all  at  rest ; and  I have  often  listened  to 
them,  of  a moonlight  night,  with  a kind  cf  mysteri- 
ous gratification.  This  gray-bearded  misanthrope, 


THE  ROOKERY. 


339 


of  course,  is  highly  respected  by  the  Squire  ; but 
the  servants  have  superstitious  notions  about  him  ; 
and  it  would  be  difficult  to  get  the  dairy-maid  to 
venture  after  dark  near  to  the  wood  which  he 
inhabits. 

Besides  the  private  quarrels  of  the  rooks,  there 
are  other  misfortunes  to  which  they  are  liable,  and 
which  often  bring  distress  into  the  most  respect- 
able families  of  the  rookery.  Having  the  true 
baronial  spirit  of  the  good  old  feudal  times,  they 
are  apt  now  and  then  to  issue  forth  from  their 
castles  on  a foray,  and  lay  the  plebeian  fields  of 
the  neighboring  country  under  contribution  ; in 
the  course  of  which  chivalrous  expeditions  they 
now  and  then  get  a shot  from  the  rusty  artillery 
of  some  refractory  farmer.  Occasionally,  too, 
while  they  are  quietly  taking  the  air  beyond  the 
park  boundaries,  they  have  the  incaution  to  come 
within  reach  of  the  truant  bowmen  of  Slingsby’s 
school,  and  receive  a flight  shot  from  some  un- 
lucky urchin’s  arrow.  In  such  case  the  wounded 
adventurer  will  sometimes  have  just  strength 
enough  to  bring  himself  home,  and,  giving  up  the 
ghost  at  the  rookery,  will  hang  dangling  “ all 
abroad  ” on  a bough,  like  a thief  on  a gibbet:  an 
awful  warning  to  his  friends,  and  an  object  of 
great  commiseration  to  the  Squire. 

But,  maugre  all  these  untoward  incidents,  the 
rooks  have,  upon  the  whole,  a happy  holiday  life 
of  it.  When  their  young  are  reared,  and  fairly 
launched  upon  their  native  element,  the  air,  the 
sares  of  the  old  folks  seem  over,  and  they  resume 
*11  their  aristoeratical  dignity  and  idleness.  I 


340 


BRACEBRIDGE  II ALL. 


have  envied  them  the  enjoyment  which  they  ap- 
pear to  have  in  their  ethereal  heights,  sporting 
with  clamorous  exultation  about  their  lofty  bow- 
ers ; sometimes  hovering  over  them,  sometimes 
partially  alighting  upon  the  topmost  branches,  and 
there  balancing  with  outstretched  wings,  and 
swinging  in  the  breeze.  Sometimes  they  seem  to 
take  a fashionable  drive  to  the  church,  and  amuse 
themselves  by  circling  in  airy  rings  about  its  spire ; 
at  other  times  a mere  garrison  is  left  at  home 
to  mount  guard  in  their  stronghold  at  the  grove, 
while  the  rest  roam  abroad  to  enjoy  the  fine 
weather.  About  sunset  the  garrison  gives  notice 
of  their  return  ; their  faint  cawing  will  be  heard 
from  a great  distance,  and  they  will  be  seen  far 
off  like  a sable  cloud,  and  then,  nearer  and  nearer, 
until  they  all  come  soaring  home.  Then  they 
perform  several  grand  circuits  in  the  air,  over  the 
Hall  and  garden,  wheeling  closer  and  closer,  until 
fiiey  gradually  settle  down  ; when  a prodigious 
cawing  takes  place,  as  though  they  were  relating 
their  day’s  adventures. 

I like  at  such  times  to  walk  about  these  dusky 
groves,  and  hear  the  various  sounds  of  these  airy 
people  roosted  so  high  above  me.  As  the  gloom 
increases,  their  conversation  subsides,  and  they 
gradually  drop  asleep  ; but  every  now  and  then 
there  is  a querulous  note,  as  if  some  one  was 
quarrelling  for  a pillow,  or  a little  more  of  the 
blanket.  It  is  late  in  the  evening  before  they 
completely  sink  to  repose,  and  then  their  old  anch- 
orite neighbor,  the  owl,  begins  his  lonely  lwotings 
from  his  bachelor’s-hall,  in  the  wood. 


MAY-DAY. 

It  is  the  choice  time  of  the  year, 

For  the  violets  now  appear ; 

Now  the  rose  receives  its  birth, 

And  pretty  primrose  decks  the  earth. 
Then  to  the  May-pole  come  away, 

For  it  is  now  a holiday. 

Aoteon  and  Diana. 


S I was  lying  in  bed  this  morning,  enjoy- 
ing one  of  those  half  dreams,  half  rev- 
eries, which  are  so  pleasant  in  the  coun- 
try, when  the  birds  are  singing  about  the  window, 
and  the  sunbeams  peeping  through  the  curtains,  I 
was  roused  by  the  sound  of  music.  On  going 
down-stairs,  I found  a number  of  villagers,  dressed 
in  their  holiday  clothes,  bearing  a pole  ornamented 
with  garlands  and  ribbons,  and  accompanied  by 
the  village  band  of  music,  under  the  direction  of 
the  tailor,  the  pale  fellow  who  plays  on  the  clari- 
net. They  had  all  sprigs  of  hawthorn,  or,  as  it 
is  called,  “ the  May,”  in  their  hats,  and  had  br;  uglit 
green  branches  and  flowers  to  decorate  the  Hall 
doors  and  windows.  They  had  come  to  give  no- 
tice that  the  May-pole  was  reared  on  the  green, 
and  to  invite  the  household  to  witness  the  sports. 
The  Hall,  according  to  custom,  became  a scene 
of  hurry  and  delighted  confusion.  The  servant* 


342 


BRA  CKBRIDGE  HALL . 


were  all  agog  with  May  and  music  ; and  there 
was  no  keeping  either  the  tongues  or  the  feet  of 
the  maids  quiet,  who  were  anticipating  the  sports 
of  the  green,  and  the  evening  dance. 

I repaired  to  the  village  at  an  early  hour  to 
enjoy  the  merry-making.  The  morning  was  pure 
and  sunny,  such  as  a May  morning  is  always  de- 
scribed.  The  fields  were  white  with  daisies,  the 
hawthorn  was  covered  with  its  fragrant  blossoms, 
the  bee  hummed  about  every  bank,  and  the  swal- 
low played  high  in  the  air  about  the  village  stee- 
ple. It  was  one  of  those  genial  days  when  we 
seem  to  draw  in  pleasure  with  the  very  air  we 
breathe,  and  to  feel  happy  we  know  not  why. 
Whoever  has  felt  the  worth  of  worthy  man,  or  has 
doted  on  lovely  woman,  will,  on  such  a day,  call 
them  tenderly  to  mind,  and  feel  his  heart  all  alive 
with  long-buried  recollections.  “ For  thenne,” 
says  the  excellent  romance  of  King  Arthur, 
“lovers  call  ageyne  to  their  mynde  old  gentilnes 
and  old  servyse,  and  many  kind  dedes,  that  were 
forgotten  by  neglygence.” 

Before  reaching  the  village,  I saw  the  May- 
pole  towering  above  the  cottages,  with  its  gay 
garlands  and  streamers,  and  heard  the  sound  of 
music.  Booths  had  been  set  up  near  it,  for  the 
reception  of  company  ; and  a bower  of  green 
branches  and  flowers  for  the  Queen  of  May,  a 
fresh,  rosy-cheeked  girl  of  the  village. 

A band  of  morris-dancers  were  capering  on 
the  green  in  their  fantastic  dresses,  jingling  with 
hawks’  bells,  with  a boy  dressed  up  as  Maid  Ma- 
rian, and  the  attendant  fool  rattling  his  box  to 


MA  Y-DA  Y. 


343 


collect  contributions  from  the  by-standers.  The 
gypsy-women  too  were  already  plying  their  mys- 
tery in  by-corners  of  the  village,  reading  the  hands 
of  the  simple  country-girls,  and  no  doubt  promis- 
ing them  all  good  husbands  and  tribes  of  children. 

The  Squire  made  his  appearance  in  the  course 
of  the  morning,  attended  by  the  parson,  and  was 
received  with  loud  acclamations.  He  mingled 
among  the  country  people  throughout  the  day, 
giving  and  receiving  pleasure  wherever  he  went. 
The  amusements  of  the  day  were  under  the  man- 
agement of  Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster,  who  is  not 
merely  lord  of  misrule  in  his  school,  but  master  of 
the  revels  to  the  village.  He  was  bustling  about 
with  the  perplexed  and  anxious  air  of  a man  who 
has  the  oppressive  burden  of  promoting  other  peo- 
ple’s merriment  upon  his  mind.  He  had  involved 
himself  in  a dozen  scrapes  in  consequence  of  a 
politic  intrigue,  which,  by  the  by,  Master-  Simon 
and  the  Oxonian  were  at  the  bottom  of,  which  had 
for  its  object  the  election  of  the  Queen  of  May. 
He  had  met  with  violent  opposition  from  a faction 
of  ale-drinkers,  who  were  in  favor  of  a bouncing 
bar-maid,  the  daughter  of  the  innkeeper  ; but  he 
had  been  too  strongly  backed  not  to  carry  his 
point,  though  it  shows  that  these  rural  crowns, 
like  all  others,  are  objects  of  great  ambition  and 
heart-burning.  I am  told  that  Master  Simon 
takes  great  interest,  though  in  an  underhand  way, 
in  the  election  of  these  May-day  Queens  ; and 
that  the  chaplet  is  generally  secured  for  some  rus- 
tic beauty  who  has  found  favor  in  his  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  there  were  various 


344 


BRACEBRIDGE  TIAEL. 


games  of  strength  and  agility  on  the  green,  at 
which  a knot  of  village  veterans  presided,  as 
judges  of  the  lists.  Among  these  Ready-Money 
Jack  took  the  lead,  looking  with  a learned  and  crit- 
ical eye  on  the  merits  of  the  different  candidates  ; 
and  though  he  was  very  laconic,  and  sometimes 
merely  expressed  himself  by  a nod,  it  was  evident 
his  opinions  far  outweighed  those  of  the  most  lo- 
quacious. 

Young  Jack  Tibbets  was  the  hero  of  the  day, 
and  carried  off  most  of  the  prizes,  though  in  some 
of  the  feats  of  agility  he  was  rivalled  by  the 
“ prodigal  son,”  who  appeared  much  in  his  ele- 
ment on  this  occasion ; but  his  most  formidable 
competitor  was  the  notorious  gypsy,  the  redoubt- 
able “ Star-light  Tom.”  I was  rejoiced  at  having 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  this  “ minion  of  the  moon  ” 
in  broad  daylight.  I found  him  a tall,  swarthy, 
good-looking  fellow,  with  a lofty  air,  something 
like  what  I have  seen  in  an  Indian  chieftain ; and 
with  a certain  lounging,  easy,  and  almost  graceful 
carriage,  which  I have  often  remarked  in  beings 
of  the  lazaroni  order,  who  lead  an  idle,  loitering 
life,  and  have  a gentlemanlike  contempt  of  labor. 

Master  Simon  and  the  old  general  reconnoi- 
tred the  ground  together,  and  indulged  a vast  deal 
of  harmless  raking  among  the  buxom  country 
girls.  Master  Simon  would  give  some  of  them  a 
kiss  on  meeting  with  them,  and  would  ask  after 
their  sisters,  for  he  is  acquainted  with  most  of  the 
farmers’  families.  Sometimes  he  would  whisper, 
and  affect  to  talk  mischievously  with  them,  and, 
if  bantered  on  the  subject,  would  turn  it  off  with 


MAY-DAY. 


345 


a laugh,  though  it  was  evident  he  liked  to  be  sus- 
pected of  being  a gay  Lothario  amongst  them. 

He  had  much  to  say  to  the  farmers  about  their 
farms ; and  seemed  to  know  all  their  horses  by 
name.  There  was  an  old  fellow,  with  a round 
ruddy  face,  and  a night-cap  under  his  hat,  the 
village  wit,  who  took  several  occasions  to  crack  a 
joke  with  him  in  the  hearing  of  his  companions, 
to  whom  he  would  turn  and  wink  hard  when 
Master  Simon  had  passed. 

The  harmony  of  the  day,  however,  had  nearly, 
at  one  time,  been  interrupted,  by  the  appearance 
of  the  radical  on  the  ground,  with  two  or  three 
of  his  disciples.  He  soon  got  engaged  in  argu- 
ment in  the  very  thick  of  the  throng,  above  which 
I could  hear  his  voice,  and  now  and  then  see  his 
meagre  hand,  half  a mile  out  of  the  sleeve,  elevated 
in  the  air  in  violent  gesticulation,  and  flourishing 
a pamphlet  by  way  of  truncheon.  He  was  de- 
crying these  idle  nonsensical  amusements  in  times 
of  public  distress,  when  it  was  every  one’s  busi- 
ness to  think  of  other  matters,  and  to  be  misera- 
ble. The  honest  village  logicians  could  make  no 
stand  against  him,  especially  as  he  was  seconded 
by  his  proselytes  ; when,  to  their  great  joy,  Mas- 
ter Simon  and  the  general  came  drifting  down 
into  the  field  of  action.  Master  Simon  was  for 
making  off,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  the 
neighborhood  of  this  fire-ship ; but  the  general 
was  too  loyal  to  suffer  such  talk  in  his  hearing, 
and  thought,  no  doubt,  that  a look  and  a word  from 
a gentleman  would  be  sufficient  to  shut  up  so 
shabby  an  orator.  The  latter,  however,  was  no 


34  G 


BRACEBR1DGE  BALL. 


respecter  of  persons,  but  rather  exulted  in  having 
such  important  antagonists.  He  talked  with 
greater  volubility  than  ever,  and  soon  drowned 
them  in  declamation  on  the  subject  of  taxes, 
poors’  rates,  and  the  national  debt.  Master  Si- 
mon endeavored  to  brush  along  in  his  usual  ex- 
cursive manner,  which  always  answered  amaz- 
ingly well  with  the  villagers  ; but  the  radical  was 
one  of  those  pestilent  fellows  that  pin  a man 
down  to  facts ; and,  indeed,  he  had  two  or  three 
pamphlets  in  his  pocket,  to  support  everything  he 
advanced  by  printed  documents.  The  general, 
too,  found  himself  betrayed  into  a more  serious 
action  than  his  dignity  could  brook,  and  looked 
like  a mighty  Dutch  Indiaman  grievously  pep- 
pered by  a petty  privateer.  In  vain  he  swelled 
and  looked  big,  and  talked  large,  and  endeavored 
to  make  up  by  pomp  of  manner  for  poverty  of 
matter  ; every  home-thrust  of  the  radical  made 
him  wheeze  like  a bellows,  and  seemed  to  let  a 
volume  of  wind  out  of  him.  In  a word,  the  two 
worthies  from  the  Hall  were  completely  dumb- 
founded, and  this  too  in  the  presence  of  several 
of  Master  Simon’s  stanch  admirers,  who  had  al- 
ways looked  up  to  him  as  infallible.  I do  not 
know  how  he  and  the  general  would  have  man- 
aged to  draw  their  forces  decently  from  the  field, 
had  not  a match  at  grinning  through  a horse- 
collar  been  announced,  whereupon  the  radical  re- 
tired with  great  expression  of  contempt,  and,  as 
soon  as  his  back  was  turned,  the  argument  was 
carried  against  him  all  hollow. 

“ Did  you  ever  hear  such  a pack  of  stuff,  gen 


MA  Y-DA  Y. 


347 


9 ml  ? ” said  Master  Simon  ; “ there ’s  no  talking 
with  one  of  these  chaps  when  he  once  gets  that 
confounded  Cobbett  in  his  head.” 

“ S’blood,  sir  ! ” said  the  general,  wiping  his 
forehead,  “ such  fellows  ought  to  be  transported  ! ” 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  day  the  ladies  from 
the  Hall  paid  a visit  to  the  green.  The  fair  Julia 
made  her  appearance,  leaning  on  her  lover’s  arm, 
and  looking  extremely  pale  and  interesting.  As 
she  is  a great  favorite  in  the  village,  where  she 
has  been  known  from  childhood,  and  as  her  late 
accident  had  been  much  talked  about,  the  sight  of 
her  caused  very  manifest  delight,  and  some  of  the 
old  women  of  the  village  blessed  her  sweet  face 
as  she  passed. 

While  they  were  walking  about,  I noticed  the 
schoolmaster  in  earnest  conversation  with  the 
Queen  of  May,  evidently  endeavoring  to  spirit 
her  up  to  some  formidable  undertaking.  At  length, 
as  the  party  from  the  Hall  approached  her  bower, 
she  came  forth,  faltering  at  every  step,  until  she 
reached  the  spot  where  the  fair  Julia  stood  be- 
tween her  lover  and  Lady  Lilly  craft.  The  little 
Queen  then  took  the  chaplet  of  flowers  from  her 
head,  and  attempted  to  put  it  on  that  of  the  bride 
elect ; but  the  confusion  of  both  was  so  great 
that  the  wreath  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground, 
had  not  the  officer  caught  it,  and,  laughing,  placed 
it  upon  the  blushing  brows  of  his  mistress.  There 
was  something  charming  in  the  very  embarrass- 
ment of  these  two  young  creatures,  both  so  beauti- 
ful, yet  so  different  in  their  kinds  of  beauty.  Mas- 
ter Simon  told  me,  afterwards,  that  the  Queen  of 


348 


BRA  CEBRfDGE  HALL. 


May  was  to  have  spoken  a few  verses  which  the 
schoolmaster  had  written  for  her;  but  she  had 
neither  wit  to  understand,  nor  memory  to  recol- 
lect them.  “ Besides,”  added  he,  “ between  you 
and  I,  she  murders  the  king’s  English  abomina- 
bly ; so  she  has  acted  the  part  of  a wise  woman 
in  holding  her  tongue,  and  trusting  to  her  pretty 
face.” 

Among  the  other  characters  from  the  Hall  was 
Mrs.  Hannah,  my  Lady  Lilly  craft’s  gentlewoman  : 
to  my  surprise,  she  was  escorted  by  old  Christy, 
the  huntsman,  and  followed  by  his  ghost  of  a 
greyhound  ; but  I find  they  are  very  old  *acquaint- 
ances,  being  drawn  together  by  some  sympathy 
of  disposition.  Mrs.  Hannah  moved  about  with 
starched  dignity  among  the  rustics,  who  drew 
back  from  her  with  more  awe  than  they  did  from 
her  mistress.  Her  mouth  seemed  shut  as  with  a 
clasp ; excepting  that  I now  and  then  heard  the 
word  “ fellows  ! ” escape  from  between  her  lips,  as 
she  got  accidentally  jostled  in  the  crowd. 

But  there  was  one  other  heart  present  that  did 
not  enter  into  the  merriment  of  the  scene,  which 
was  that  of  the  simple  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  house- 
keeper’s niece.  The  poor  girl  has  continued  to 
pine  and  whine  for  some  time  past,  in  consequence 
of  the  obstinate  coldness  of  her  lover  ; never  wa3 
a little  flirtation  more  severely  punished.  She  ap- 
peared this  day  on  the  green,  gallanted  by  a smart 
servant  out  of  livery,  and  had  evidently  resolved 
to  try  the  hazardous  experiment  of  awakening 
the  jealousy  of  her  lover.  She  was  dressed  it? 
her  very  best;  affected  an  air  cf  great  gayety 


MAY- DAT. 


349 


talked  loud  and  girlishly,  and  laughed  when  there 
was  nothing  to  laugh  at.  There  was,  however, 
an  aching,  heavy  heart  in  the  poor  baggage’s 
bosom,  in  spite  of  all  her  levity.  Her  eye  turned 
every  now  and  then  in  quest  of  her  reckless  lover, 
and  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and  her  fictitious  gayety 
vanished,  on  seeing  him  paying  his  rustic  homage 
to  the  little  May- day  Queen. 

My  attention  was  now  diverted  by  a fresh 
stir  and  bustle.  Music  was  heard  from  a dis- 
tance ; a baanex*  was  advancing  up  the  road,  pre- 
ceded by  a rustic  band  playing  something  like  a 
march,  and  followed  by  a sturdy  throng  of  coun- 
try lads,  the  chivalry  of  a neighboring  and  rival 
village. 

No  sooner  had  they  reached  the  green  than 
they  challenged  the  heroes  of  the  day  to  new  trials 
of  strength  and  activity.  Several  gymnastic 
contests  ensued  for  the  honor  of  the  respective 
villages.  In  the  course  of  these  exercises,  young 
Tibbets  and  the  cnampion  of  the  adverse  party 
had  an  obstinate  match  at  wrestling.  They 
tugged,  and  strained,  and  panted,  without  either 
getting  the  mastery,  until  both  came  to  the  ground, 
and  rolled  upon  the  green.  Just  then  the  discon- 
solate Phoebe  came  by.  She  saw  her  recreant 
lover  in  fierce  contest,  as  she  thought,  and  in  dan- 
ger. In  a moment  pride,  pique,  and  coquetry 
were  forgotten  : she  rushed  into  the  ring,  seized 
upon  the  rival  champion  by  the  hair,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  wreaking  on  him  her  puny  vengeance, 
when  a buxom,  strapping  country  lass,  the  sweet- 
ueart  of  the  prostrate  swain,  pounced  upon  1 er 


350 


Bit  A CEBRIDGE  HALL . 


like  a hawk,  and  would  have  stripped  her  of  her 
fine  plumage  in  a twinkling  had  she  also  not  been 
seized  in  her  turn. 

A complete  tumult  ensued.  The  chivalry  of 
the  two  villages  became  embroiled.  Blows  began 
to  be  dealt,  and  sticks  to  be  flourished.  Phoebe 
was  carried  off  from  the  field  in  hysterics.  In 
vain  did  the  sages  of  the  village  interfere.  The 
sententious  apothecary  endeavored  to  pour  the 
soothing  oil  of  his  philosophy  upon  this  tempes- 
tuous sea  of  passion,  but  was  tumbled  into  the 
dust.  Slingsby,  the  pedagogue,  a^o  is  a great 
lover  of  peace,  went  into  the  midst  o*.  the  throng, 
as  marshal  of  the  day,  to  put  an  end  to  the  com- 
motion, but  was  rent  in  twain,  and  came  out  with 
his  garment  hanging  in  two  strips  from  his  shoul- 
ders : upon  which  the  prodigal  son  dashed  in  with 
fury  to  revenge  the  insult  sustained  by  his  patron. 
The  tumult  thickened ; I caught  glimpses  of  the 
jockey-cap  of  old  Christy,  like  the  helmet  of 
a chieftain,  bobbing  about  in  the  midst  of  the 
scuffle  ; while  Mistress  Hannah,  separated  from 
her  doughty  protector,  was  squalling  and  strik- 
ing at  right  and  left  with  a faded  parasol ; being 
tossed  and  tousled  about  by  the  crowd  in  such 
wise  as  never  happened  to  maiden  gentlewoman 
before. 

At  length  old  Ready-Money  Jack  made  his  way 
into  the  very  thickest  of  the  throng,  tearing  it, 
as  it  were,  apart,  and  enforcing  peace  vi  et  armis. 
It  was  surprising  to  see  the  sudden  quiet  that  en- 
sued. The  storm  settled  down  at  once  into  tran- 
quillity. The  parties,  having  no  real  grounds  of 


MA  Y-DA  Y. 


351 


hostility,  were  readily  pacified,  and  in  fact  were 
a little  at  a loss  to  know  why  and  how  they  had 
got  by  the  ears.  Slingsby  was  speedily  stitched 
together  again  by  his  friend  the  tailor,  and  re- 
sumed his  usual  good  humor.  Mrs.  Hannah 
drew  on  one  side  to  plume  her  rumpled  feathers ; 
and  old  Christy,  having  repaired  his  damages, 
took  her  under  his  arm,  and  they  swept  back 
again  to  the  Hall,  ten  times  more  bitter  against 
mankind  than  ever. 

The  Tibbets  family  alone  seemed  slow  in  re- 
covering from  the  agitation  of  the  scene.  Young 
Jack  was  evidently  very  much  moved  by  the  her- 
oism of  the  unlucky  Phoebe.  His  mother,  who 
had  been  summoned  to  the  field  of  action  by  news 
of  the  affray,  was  in  a sad  panic,  and  had  need 
of  all  her  management  to  keep  him  from  follow- 
ing his  mistress,  and  coming  to  a perfect  reconcil- 
iation. 

What  heightened  the  alarm  and  perplexity  of 
the  good  managing  dame  was,  that  the  matter 
had  aroused  the  slow  apprehensions  of  old  Ready- 
Money  himself ; who  was  very  much  struck  by 
the  intrepid  interference  of  so  pretty  and  deli- 
cate a girl,  and  was  sadly  puzzled  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  violent  agitation  in  his 
family. 

When  all  this  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Squire, 
he  was  grievously  scandalized  that  his  May -day 
fete  should  have  been  disgraced  by  such  a brawl. 
He  ordered  Phoebe  to  appear  before  him,  but  the 
girl  was  so  frightened  and  distressed,  that  she 
came  sobbing  and  trembling,  and,  at  the  first 


bh2 


BRA  CEB  RID  GE  HALJj. 


question  he  asked,  fell  again  into  hysterics.  Lady 
Lillycraft,  who  understood  there  was  an  affair  of 
the  heart  at  the  bottom  of  this  distress,  immedi- 
ately took  the  girl  into  great  favor  and  protection, 
and  made  her  peace  with  the  Squire.  This  was 
the  only  thing  that  disturbed  the  harmony  of  the 
day,  if  we  except  the  discomfiture  of  Master  Si- 
mon and  the  general  by  the  radical.  Upon  the 
whole,  therefore,  the  Squire  had  very  fair  rea- 
son to  be  satisfied  that  he  had  rode  his  hobby 
throughout  the  day  without  any  other  molesta- 
tion. 

The  reader,  learned  in  these  matters,  will  per 
ceive  that  all  this  was  but  a faint  shadow  of  the 
once  gay  and  fanciful  rites  of  May.  The  peas- 
antry have  lost  the  proper  feeling  for  these 
rites,  and  have  grown  almost  as  strange  to  them 
as  the  boors  of  La  Mancha  were,  to  the  customs 
of  chivalry  in  the  days  of  the  valorous  Don 
Quixote.  Indeed,  I considered  it  a proof  of  the 
discretion  with  which  the  Squire  rides  his  hobby, 
that  he  had  not  pushed  the  thing  any  farther,  nor 
attempted  to  revive  many  obsolete  usages  of  the 
day,  which,  in  the  present  matter-of-fact  times, 
would  appear  affected  and  absurd.  I must  say, 
though  I do  it  under  the  rose,  the  general  brawl 
in  which  this  festival  had  nearly  terminated  has 
made  me  doubt  whether  these  rural  customs  of 
the  good  old  times  were  always  so  very  loving 
and  innocent  as  we  are  apt  to  fancy  them,  and 
whether  the  peasantry  in  those  times  were  really 
so  Arcadian  as  they  have  been  fondly  represented 
I begin  to  fear  — 


MAY- DAY. 


353 


“ Those  days  were  never ; airy  dreams 
Sat  for  the  picture,  and  the  poet’s  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 
Imposed  a gay  delirium  for  a truth. 

Grant  it ; I still  must  envy  them  an  age 
That  favored  such  a dream.” 

23 


THE  MANUSCRIPT. 

ESTERDAY  was  a day  of  quiet  and 
repose  after  the  bustle  of  May-day. 
During  the  morning  I joined  the  ladies 
in  a small  sitting-room,  the  windows  of  which 
came  down  to  the  floor,  and  opened  upon  a ter- 
race of  the  garden,  which  was  set  out  with  deli- 
cate shrubs  and  flowers.  The  soft  sunshine  fall- 
ing into  the  room  through  the  branches  of  trees 
that  overhung  the  windows,  the  sweet  smell  of 
flowers,  and  the  singing  of  birds,  produced  a pleas- 
ing yet  calming  effect  on  the  whole  party.  Some 
time  elapsed  without  any  one  speaking:  Lady 
Lilly  craft  and  Miss  Templeton  were  sitting  by 
an  elegant  work-table,  near  one  of  the  windows, 
occupied  with  some  pretty  lady-like  work.  The 
captain  was  on  a stool  at  his  mistress’s  feet,  look- 
ing over  some  music ; and  poor  Phoebe  Wilkins, 
who  has  always  been  a kind  of  pet  among  the 
ladies,  but  who  has  risen  vastly  in  favor  with 
Lady  Lillycraft  in  consequence  of  some  tender 
confessions,  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  with 
swollen  eyes,  working  pensively  at  some  of  the 
fair  Julia’s  wedding-ornaments. 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  her  ladyship, 


THE  MANUSCRIPT. 


355 


who  suddenly  proposed  a task  to  the  captain. 
u I am  in  your  debt,”  said  she,  “ for  that  tale  you 
read  to  us  the  other  day ; I will  now  furnish  one 
in  return,  if  you  ’ll  read  it ; and  it  is  just  suited 
to  this  sweet  May  morning,  for  it  is  all  about 
love  ! ” 

The  proposition  seemed  to  delight  every  one 
present.  The  captain  smiled  assent.  Her  lady- 
ship rang  for  her  page,  and  dispatched  him  to  her 
room  for  the  manuscript.  “ As  the  captain,”  said 
she,  “ gave  us  an  account  of  the-  author  of  his 
story,  it  is  but  right  I should  give  one  of  mine. 
It  was  written  by  the  parson  of  the  parish  where 
I reside.  He  is  a thin,  elderly  man,  of  a delicate 
constitution,  but  positively  one  of  the  most  charm- 
ing men  that  ever  lived.  He  lost  his  wife  a few 
years  since  ; one  of  the  sweetest  women  you  ever 
saw.  He  has  two  sons,  whom  he  educates  him- 
self ; both  of  whom  already  write  delightful  po- 
etry. His  parsonage  is  a lovely  place,  close  by 
the  church,  all  overrun  with  ivy  and  honey- 
suckles ; with  the  sweetest  flower-garden  about 
it ; for,  you  know,  our  country  clergymen  are  al- 
most always  fond  of  flowers,  and  make  their  par- 
sonages perfect  pictures. 

“ His  living  is  a very  good  one,  and  he  is  very 
much  beloved,  and  does  a great  deal  of  good  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  among  the  poor.  And  then 
such  sermons  as  he  preaches ! Oh,  if  you  could 
only  hear  one  taken  from  a text  in  Solomon’s 
Song,  all  about  love  and  matrimony,  one  of  the 
sweetest  things  you  ever  heard ! He  preaches  it  at 
least  once  a year,  in  spring-time,  for  he  knows  I 


356 


BRA  CEB  RID  G E HALL. 


am  fond  of  it.  He  always  dines  with  me  on  Sun- 
days, and  often  brings  me  some  of  the  sweetest 
pieces  of  poetry, -all  about  the  pleasures  of  mel- 
ancholy, and  such  subjects,  that  make  me  cry  so* 
you  can’t  think.  I wish  he  would  publish.  I 
think  he  has  some  things  as  sweet  as  anything  of 
Moore  or  Lord  Byron. 

“ He  fell  into  very  ill  health,  some  time  ago, 
and  was  advised  to  go  to  the  Continent ; and  I 
gave  him  no  peace  until  he  went,  and  promised 
to  take  care  of  his  two  boys  until  he  returned. 

“ He  was  gone  for  above  a year,  and  was 
quite  restored.  When  he  came  back,  he  sent  me 
the  tale  I ’m  going  to  show  you.  — Oh,  here  it  is ! ” 
said  she,  as  the  page  put  in  her  hands  a beautiful 
box  of  satin-wood.  She  unlocked  it,  and  among 
several  parcels  on  notes  of  embossed  paper,  cards 
of  charades,  and  copies  of  verses,  she  drew  out 
a crimson  velvet  case,  that  smelt  very  much 
of  perfumes.  From  this  she  took  a manuscript, 
daintily  written  on  gilt-edged  vellum  paper,  and 
stitched  with  a light  - blue  ribbon.  This  she 
handed  to  the  captain,  who  read  the  following 
tale,  which  I have  procured  for  the  entertainment 

the  reader. 


ANNETTE  PELARBRE. 

The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns, 

And  the  merchant  from  the  main, 

But  I hae  parted  wi’  my  love, 

And  ne’er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear, 

And  ne’er  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gone,  and  night  is  come, 

And  a’  are  boun  to  sleep, 

I think  on  them  that ’s  far  awa 
’"he  lee-lang  night  and  weep, 

My  dear, 

fhe  lee-lang  night  and  weep. 

Old  Scotch  Ballad.  # 

jP|fl|N  the  course  of  a tour  in  Lower  Nor- 
gllfj  mandy  I remained  for  a day  or  two  in 
la&BSii  the  old  town  of  Honfleur,  which  stands 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Seine.  It  was  the  time 
of  a fete,  and  all  the  world  was  thronging  in  the 
evening  to  dance  at  the  fair,  held  before  the 
chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace.  As  I like  all  kinds 
of  innocent  merry-making,  I joined  the  throng. 

The  chapel  is  situated  at  the  top  of  a high  hill, 
or  promontory,  whence  its  bell  may  be  heard  at  a 
distance  by  the  mariner  at  night.  It  is  said  to 
have  given  the  name  to  the  port  of  Havre  de 
Grace,  which  lies  directly  opposite,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Seine.  The  road  up  to  the  chapel 


358 


BRA  CEBRiVGE  HaLL. 


went  in  a zigzag  course,  along  the  brow  of  the 
steep  coast ; it  was  shaded  by  trees,  from  between 
which  I had  beautiful  peeps  at  the  ancient  tow- 
ers of  Honfleur  below,  the  varied  scenery  of  the 
opposite  shore,  the  white  buildings  of  Havre  in 
the  distance,  and  the  wide  sea  beyond.  The  road 
was  enlivened  by  groups  of  peasant  girls,  in 
bright  crimson  dresses,  and  tall  caps ; and  I found 
all  the  flower  of  the  neighborhood  assembled  on 
the  green  that  crowds  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

The  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace  is  a fa- 
vorite resort  of  the  inhabitants  of  Honfleur  and 
its  vicinity,  both  for  pleasure  and  devotion.  At 
this  little  chapel  prayers  are  put  up  by  the  mari- 
ners of  the  port  previous  to  their  voyages,  and  by 
their  friends  during  their  absence  ; and  votive 
offerings  are  hung  about  its  walls,  in  fulfilment 
qf  vows  made  during  times  of  shipwreck  and  dis- 
aster. The  chapel  is  surrounded  by  trees.  Over 
the  portal  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  Child, 
with  an  inscription  which  struck  me  as  being 
quite  poetical : 

11  Etoile  de  la  mer,  priez  pour  nous ! ” 

(Star  of  the  sea,  pray  for  us.) 

On  a level  spot  near  the  chapel,  under  a grove 
of  noble  trees,  the  populace  dance  on  fine  summer 
evenings ; and  here  are  held  frequent  fairs  and 
fetes,  which  assemble  all  the  rustic  beauty  of  the 
loveliest  parts  of  Lower  Normandy.  The  pres- 
ent was  an  occasion  of  the  kind.  Booths  and 
tents  were  erected  among  the  trees ; there  were 
the  usual  displays  of  finery  to  tempt  the  rural 


364 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


He  had  left  Annette ' almost  a child  ; he  found 
her  a blooming  woman.  If  he  had  loved  her  be 
fore,  he  now  adored  her.  Annette  was  equally 
struck  with  the  improvement  time  had  made  in 
her  lover.  She  noticed,  with  secret  admiration, 
his  superiority  to  the  other  young  men  of  the  vil- 
lage ; the  frank,  lofty,  military  air,  that  distin- 
guished him  from  all  the  rest  at  their  rural  gath- 
erings. The  more  she  saw  him,  the  more  her 
light,  playful  fondness  of  former  years  deepened 
into  ardent  and  powerful  affection.  But  Annette 
was  a rural  belle.  She  had  tasted  the  sweets  of 
dominion,  and  had  been  rendered  wilful  and  ca- 
pricious by  constant  indulgence  at  home,  and  ad- 
miration abroad.  She  was  conscious  of  her  power 
over  Eugene,  and  delighted  in  exercising  it.  She 
sometimes  treated  him  with  petulant  caprice,  en- 
joying the  pain  which  she  inflicted  by  her  frowns, 
from  the  idea  how  soon  she  would  chase  it  away 
again  by  her  smiles.  She  took  a pleasure  in 
alarming  his  fears,  by  affecting  a temporary  pref- 
erence .for  some  one  or  other  of  his  rivals;  and 
then  would  delight  in  allaying  them  by  an  ample 
measure  of  returning  kindness.  Perhaps  there 
was  some  degree  of  vanity  gratified  by  all  this  ; it 
might  be  a matter  of  triumph  to  show  her  abso- 
lute power  over  the  young  soldier,  who  was  the 
universal  object  of  female  admiration.  Eugene, 
however,  was  of  too  serious  and  ardent  a nature 
to  be  trifled  with.  He  loved  too  fervently  not 
to  be  filled  with  doubt.  He  saw  Annette  sur- 
rounded by  admirers,  and  full  of  animation,  the 
gayest  among  the  gay  at  all  their  rural  festivities, 


ANNETTE  DEL  ARB  RE. 


363 


gene.  She  would  often  steal  away  from  her 
youthful  companions  and  their  amusements;,  to 
pass  whole  days  with  the  good  widow ; listening 
to  her  fond  talk  about  her  boy,  and  blushing  with 
secret  pleasure,  when  his  letters  were  read,  at  find- 
ing herself  a constant  theme  of  recollection  and 
inquiry. 

At  length  the  sudden  return  of  peace,  which 
sent  many  a warrior  to  his  native  cottage,  brought 
back  Eugene,  a young  sunburnt  soldier,  to  the 
village.  I need  not  say  how  rapturously  his  re- 
turn was  greeted  by  his  mother,  who  saw  in  him 
the  pride  and  staff  of  her  old  age.  He  had  risen 
in  the  service  by  his  merit ; but  brought  away 
little  from  the  wars,  excepting  a soldierlike-  air/ a 
gallant  name,  and  a scar  across  the  forehead.  He 
brought  back,  however,  a nature  unspoiled  by  the 
camp.  He  was  frank,  open,  generous,  and  ardent. 
His  heart  was  quick  and  kind  in  its  impulses,  and 
was  perhaps  a little  softer  from  having  suffered ; 
it  was  full  of  tenderness  for  Annette.  He  had 
received  frequent  accounts  of  her  from  hi*  mother  ; 
and  the  mention  of  her  kindness  to  his  lonely 
parent  had  rendered  her  doubly  dear  to  him.  He 
had  been  wounded ; he  had  been  a prisoner ; he 
had  been  in  various  troubles,  but  had  always  pre- 
served the  braid  of  hair  which  she  had  bound 
round  his  arm.  It  had  been  a kind  of  talisman 
to  him ; he  had  many  a time  looked  upon  it  as  he 
lay  on  the  hard  ground,  and  the  thought  that  he 
might  one  day  see  Annette  again,  and  the  fair 
fields  about  his  native  village,  had  cheered  his 
heart,  and  enabled  him  to  bear  up  against  every 
hardship. 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALI 


l 



m 

orse  to  sit  by  the  mother  all  day,  to  studf  her 
wants,  to  beguile  her  heavy  hours,  to  hang  Hbout 
her  with  the  caressing  endearments  of  a daughter, 
and  to  seek  by  every  means,  if  possible,  to  supply 
the  place  of  the  son,  whom  she  reproached  her- 
self with  having  driven  away. 

In  the  mean  time  the  ship  made  a prosperous 
voyage  to  her  destined  port.  Eugene’s  mother 
received  a letter  from  him,  in  which  he  lamented 
the  precipitancy  of  his  departure.  The  voyage 
had  given  him  time  for  sober  reflection.  If  An- 
nette had  been  unkind  to  him,  he  ought  not  to 
have  forgotten  what  was  due  to  bis  mother,  who 
wae  now  advanced  in.  years.  He  accused  him- 
self of  selfishness  in  only  listening  to  the  sugges- 
tions of  his  own  inconsiderate  passions.  He 
promised  to  return  with  the  ship,  to  make  his 
mind  up  to  his  disappointment,  and  to  think  of 

nothing  but  making  his  mother  happy “And 

when  he  does  return,”  said  Annette,  clasping  her 
hapds  with  transport,  “it  shall  not  be  my  fault 
if  he  ev^er  leaves  us  again.” 

The  time  approached  for  the  ship’s  return. 
She  was  daily  expected,  when  the  weather  be- 
came dreadfully  tempestuous.  Day  after  day 
brought  news  of  vessels  foundered,  or  driven  on 
shore,  and  the  coast  was  strewed  with  wrecks. 
Intelligence  was  received  of  the  looked-for  ship 
having  been  seen  dismasted  in  a violent  storm,  and 
the  greatest  fears  were  entertained  for  her  safety. 

Annette  never  left  the  side  of  Eugene’s  mother. 
She  watched  every  change  of  her  countenance 
with  painful  solicitude,  and  endeavored  to  cheer 


ANNETTE  LELARBRE . 


359 


coquette,  and  of  wonderful  shows  to  entice  the 
curious ; mountebanks  were  exerting  their  elo- 
quence ; jugglers  and  fortune-tellers  astonishing 
the  credulous ; while  whole  rows  of  grotesque 
saints,  in  wood  and  wax-work,  were  offered  for 
the  purchase  of  the  pious. 

The  fete  had  assembled  in  one  view  all  the 
picturesque  costumes  of  the  Pays  d’Auge  and  the 
Cote  de  Caux.  I beheld  tall,  stately  caps,  and 
trim  bodices,  according  to  fashions  which  have 
been  handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter  for 
centuries ; the  exact  counterparts  of  those  worn 
in  the  time  of  the  Conqueror ; and  which  sur- 
prised me  by  their  faithful  resemblance  to  those 
in  the  old  pictures  of  Froissart’s  Chronicles,  and 
in  the  paintings  of  illuminated  manuscripts.  Any 
one,  also,  who  has  been  in  Lower  Normandy, 
must  have  remarked  the  beauty  of  the  peasantry, 
and  that  air  of  native  elegance  which  prevails 
among  them.  It  is  to  this  country,  undoubtedly, 
that  the  English  owe  their  good  looks.  It  was 
hence  that  the  bright  carnation,  the  fine  blue  eye, 
the  light  auburn  hair,  passed  over  to  England  in 
the  train  of  the  Conqueror,  and  filled  the  land 
with  beauty. 

The  scene  before  me  was  perfectly  enchanting : 
the  assemblage  of  so  many  fresh  and  blooming 
faces ; the  gay  groups  in  fanciful  dresses ; some 
dancing  ou  the  green,  others  strolling  about,  or 
seated  on  the  grass  ; the  fine  clumps  of  trees  in 
ihe  foreground,  bordering  the  brow  of  this  airy 
Height,  and  the  broad  green  sea,  sleeping  in  sum- 
mer tranquillity,  in  the  distance. 


ANNETTE  DEL  ARB  RE. 


365 


and  apparently  most  gay  when  he  was  most  de- 
jected. Every  one  saw  through  this  caprice  but 
himself ; every  one  saw  that  in  reality  she  doted 
on  him  ; but  Eugene  alone  suspected  the  sincerity 
of  her  affection.  For  some  time  he  bore  this  co- 
quetry with  secret  impatience  and  distrust ; but 
his  feelings  grew  sore  and  irritable,  and  overcame 
his  self-command.  A slight  misunderstanding 
took  place  ; a quarrel  ensued.  Annette,  unaccus- 
tomed to  be  thwarted  and  contradicted,  and  full 
of  the  insolence  of  youthful  beauty,  assumed  an 
air  of  disdain.  She  refused  all  explanations  to 
her  lover,  and  they  parted  in  anger.  That  very 
evening  Eugene  saw  her,  full  of  gayety,  dancing 
with  one  of  his  rivals  ; and  as  her  eye  caught 
his,  fixed  on  her  with  unfeigned  distress,  it  spar- 
kled with  more  than  usual  vivacity.  It  was  a fin- 
ishing blow  to  his  hopes,  already  so  much  im- 
paired by  secret  distrust.  Pride  and  resentment 
both  struggled  in  his  breast,  and  seemed  to  rouse 
his  spirit  to  all  his  wonted  energy.  He  retired 
from  her  presence  with  the  hasty  determination 
never  to  see  her  again. 

A woman  is  more  considerate  in  affairs  of  love 
than  a man  ; because  love  is  more  the  study  and 
business  of  her  life.  Annette  soon  repented  of 
her  indiscretion ; she  felt  that  she  had  used  her 
lover  unkindly  ; she  felt  that  she  had  trifled  with 
his  sincere  and  generous  nature  ; — and  then  he 
looked  so  handsome  when  he  parted  after  their 
quarrel  — his  fine  features  lighted  up  by  indigna- 
tion. She  had  intended  making  up  with  him  at 
the  evening  dance ; but  his  sudden  departure  pre* 


366 


BRA  CEB  HU  tJE  HALL. 


ventol  her.  She  now  promised  herself  that  when 
next  they  met  she  would  amply  repay  him  by  the 
sweets  of  a perfect  reconciliation,  and  that,  thence- 
forward, she  would  never  — never  tease  him  more ! 
That  promise  was  not  to  be  fulfilled.  Day  after 
day  passed  ; but  Eugene  did  not  make  his  ap- 
pearance. Sunday  evening  came,  the  usual  time 
when  all  the  gayety  of  the  village  assembled  ; 
but  Eugene  was  not  there.  She  inquired  after 
him ; he  had  left  the  village.  She  now  became 
alarmed,  and,  forgetting  all  coyness  and  affected 
indifference,  called  on  Eugene’s  mother  for  an  ex- 
planation. She  found  her  full  of  affliction,  and 
learnt  with  surprise  and  consternation  that  Eu- 
gene had  gone  to  sea. 

While  his  feelings  were  yet  smarting  with  hei 
affected  disdain,  and  his  heart  a prey  to  alter- 
nate indignation  and  despair,  he  had  suddenly 
embraced  an  invitation  which  had  repeatedly  been 
made  him  by  a relative,  who  was  fitting  out  a 
ship  from  the  port  of  Honfleur,  and  who  wished 
him  to  be  the  companion  of  his  voyage.  Absence 
appeared  to  him  the  only  cure  for  his  unlucky  pas- 
sion ; and  in  the  temporary  transports  of  his  feel- 
ings there  was  something  gratifying  in  the  idea 
of  having  half  the  world  intervene  between  them. 
The  hurry  necessary  for  his  departure  left  no  time 
for  cool  reflection ; it  rendered  him  deaf  to  the 
remonstrances  of  his  afflicted  mother.  He  hast- 
ened to  Honfleur  just  in  time  to  make  the  need- 
ful preparations  for  the  voyage ; and  the  first 
news  that  Annette  received  of  this  sudden  de- 
termination was  a letter  delivered  by  his  mother, 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


369 


her  with  hopes,  while  her  own  mind  was  racked 
by  anxiety.  She  tasked  her  efforts  to  be  gay ; 
but  it  was  a forced  and  unnatural  gayety  ; a sigh 
from  the  mother  would  completely  check  it ; and 
when  she  could  no  longer  restrain  the  rising  tears, 
she  would  hurry  away  and  pour  out  her  agony  in 
secret.  Every  anxious  look,  every  anxious  in- 
quiry of  the  mother,  whenever  a door  opened,  or 
a strange  face  appeared,  was  an  arrow  to  her 
soul.  She  considered  every  disappointment  as  a 
pang  of  her  own  infliction,  and  her  heart  sick- 
ened under  the  care-worn  expression  of  the  ma- 
ternal eye.  At  length  this  suspense  became  in- 
supportable. She  left  the  village  and  hastened 
to  Honfleur,  hoping  every  hour,  every  moment, 
to  receive  some  tidings  of  her  lover.  She  paced 
the  pier,  and  wearied  the  seamen  of  the  port  with 
her  inquiries.  She  made  a daily  pilgrimage 
to  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace  ; hung  vo- 
tive garlands  on  the  wall,  and  passed  hours  either 
kneeling  before  the  altar,  or  looking  out  from  the 
brow  of  the  hill  upon  the  angry  sea. 

At  length  word  was  brought  that  the  long- 
wished-for  vessel  was  in  sight.  She  was  seen 
standing  into  the  mouth  of  the  Seine,  shattered 
arid  crippled,  bearing  marks  of  having  been  sadly 
tempest-tossed.  A general  joy  was  diffused  by 
her  return  ; and  there  was  not  a brighter  eye,  nor 
a lighter  heart,  than  Annette’s  in  the  little  port 
of  Honfleur.  The  ship  came  to  anchor  in  the 
river  ; and  a boat  put  off  for  the  shore.  The  pop- 
ulace crowded  down  to  the  pier-head  to  welcome 
it.  Annette  stood  blushing,  and  smiling,  and  trem- 


310 


UUA  C ABRIDGE  BALL. 


bling,  and  weeping  ; for  a thousand  painfully  pleas- 
ing emotions  agitated  her  breast  at  the  thoughts 
of  the  meeting  and  reconciliation  about  to  take 
place. 

Her  heart  throbbed  to  pour  itself  out,  and  atone 
to  her  gallant  lover  for  all  its  errors.  At  one 
moment  she  would  place  herself  in  a conspicuous 
situation,  where  she  might  catch  his  view  at  once, 
and  surprise  him  by  her  welcome ; but  the  next 
moment  a doubt  would  come  across  her  mind, 
and  she  would  shrink  among  the  throng,  trem- 
bling and  faint,  and  gasping  with  her  emotions. 
Her  agitation  increased  as  the  boat  drew  near, 
until  it  became  distressing ; and  it  was  almost  a 
relief  to  her  when  she  perceived  that  her  lovei 
was  not  there.  She  presumed  that  some  accident 
had  detained  him  on  board  of  the  ship,  and  felt 
that  the  delay  would  enable  her  to  gather  more 
self-possession  for  the  meeting.  As  the  boat 
neared  the  shore,  many  inquiries  were  made,  and 
laconic  answers  returned.  At  length  Annette 
heard  some  inquiries  after  her  lover.  Her  heart 
palpitated  ; there  was  a moment's  pause : the  re- 
ply was  brief,  but  awful.  He  had  been  washed 
from  the  deck,  with  two  of  the  crew,  in  the  midst 
of  a stormy  night,  when  it  was  impossible  to  ren- 
der any  assistance.  A piercing  shriek  broke 
from  among  the  crowd ; and  Annette  had  nearly 
fallen  into  the  waves. 

The  sudden  revulsion  of  feelings  after  such  a 
transient  gleam  of  happiness  was  too  much  for 
her  harassed  frame.  She  was  carried  home 
senseless.  Her  life  was  ftr  some  *ime  despaired 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


371 


:>f,  and  it  was  months  before  she  recovered  her 
health ; but  she  never  had  perfectly  recovered  her 
mind  : it  still  remained  unsettled  with  respect  to 
her  lover’s  fate. 

“ The  subject,”  continued  my  informer,  “ is 
never  mentioned  in  her  hearing ; but  she  some- 
limes  speaks  of  it  herself,  and  it  seems  as  though 
(here  were  some  vague  train  of  impressions  in 
her  mind,  in  which  hope  and  fear  are  strangely 
mingled ; some  imperfect  idea  of  her  lover’s  ship- 
wreck, and  yet  some  expectation  of  his  return. 

“ Her  parents  have  tried  every  means  to  cheer 
her,  and  to  banish  these  gloomy  images  from  her 
thoughts.  They  assemble  round  her  the  young 
companions  in  whose  society  she  used  to  delight ; 
and  they  will  work,  and  chat,  and  sing,  and  laugh, 
as  formerly  ; but  she  will  sit  silently  among  them, 
and  will  sometimes  weep  in  the  midst  of  their 
gayety  ; and,  if  spoken  to,  will  make  no  reply,  but 
look  up  with  streaming  eyes,  and  sing  a dismal 
little  song,  which  she  has  learned  somewhere, 
about  a shipwreck.  It  makes  every  one’s  heart 
ache  to  see  her  in  this  way,  for  she  used  to  be  the 
happiest  creature  in  the  village. 

“ She  passes  the  greater  part  of  the  time  with 
Eugene’s  mother  ; whose  only  consolation  is  her 
society,  and  who  dotes  on  her  with  a mother's 
tenderness.  She  is  the  only  one  that  has  perfect 
•nduence  over  Annette  in  every  mood.  The  pool 
girl  seems,  as  formerly,  to  make  an  effort  to  be 
cheerful  in  her  company ; but  will  sometimes 
gaze  upon  her  with  the  most  piteous  look,  and 
"hen  kiss  her  gray  hairs,  and  fall  on  her  neck  and 
weep. 


372 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


“ She  is  not  always  melancholy,  however ; 
there  are  occasional  intervals  when  she  will  be 
bright  and  animated  for  days  together  ; but  a de- 
gree of  wildness  attends  these  fits  of  gayety,  that 
prevents  their  yielding  any  satisfaction  to  her 
friends.  At  such  times  she  will  arrange  her  room, 
which  is  all  covered  with  pictures  of  ships  and 
legends  of  saints  ; and  will  wreathe  a white  chap- 
let, as  for  a wedding,  and  prepare  wedding-orna- 
ments. She  will  listen  anxiously  at  the  door, 
and  look  frequently  out  at  the  window,  as  if  ex- 
pecting some  one’s  arrival.  It  is  supposed  that 
at  such  times  she  is  looking  for  her  lover’s  return  ; 
but,  as  no  one  touches  upon  the  theme,  or  men- 
tions his  name  in  her  presence,  the  current  of  her 
thoughts  is  mere  matter  of  conjecture.  Now 
and  then  she  will  make  a pilgrimage  to  the  chapel 
of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace ; where  she  will  pray 
for  hours  at  the  altar,  and  decorate  the  images 
with  wreaths  that  she  has  woven ; or  will  wave 
her  handkerchief  from  the  terrace,  as  you  have 
seen,  if  there  is  any  vessel  in  the  distance.” 

Upwards  of  a year,  he  informed  me,  had  now 
elapsed  without  effacing  from  her  mind  this  sin- 
gular taint  of  insanity ; still  her  friends  hoped  it 
might  gradually  wear  away.  They  had  at  one 
time  removed  her  to  a distant  part  of  the  country, 
in  hopes  that  absence  from  the  scenes  connected 
with  her  story  might  have  a salutary  effect ; but, 
when  her  periodical  melancholy  returned,  she  be- 
came more  restless  and  wretched  than  usual,  and, 
secretly  escaping  from  her  friends,  set  out  on  foot, 
without  knowing  the  road,  on  one  of  her  pilgrim- 
ages to  the  chapel. 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE . 


373 


This  little  story  entirely  drew  my  attention 
from  the  gay  scene  of  the  fete,  and  fixed  it  upon 
the  beautiful  Annette.  While  she  was  yet  stand- 
ing on  the  terrace,  the  vesper-bell  rang  from  the 
neighboring  chapel.  She  listened  for  a moment, 
and  then  drawing  a small  rosary  from  her  bosom, 
walked  in  that  direction.  Several  of  the  peas- 
antry followed  her  in  silence  ; and  I felt  too  much 
interested  not  to  do  the  same. 

The  chapel,  as  I said  before,  is  in  the  midst  of 
a grove,  on  the  high  promontory.  The  inside 
is  hung  round  with  little  models  of  ships,  and 
rude  paintings  of  wrecks  and  perils  at  sea,  and 
providential  deliverances  : the  votive  offerings  of 
captains  and  crews  that  have  been  saved.  On 
entering,  Annette  paused  for  a moment  before  a 
picture  of  the  Virgin,  which,  I observed,  had  re- 
cently been  decorated  with  a wreath  of  artificial 
flowers.  When  she  reached  the  middle  of  the 
chapel  she  knelt  down,  and  those  who  followed 
her  involuntarily  did  the  same  at  a little  distance. 
The  evening  sun  shone  softly  through  the  check- 
ered grove  into  one  window  of  the  chapel.  A 
perfect  stillness  reigned  within ; and  this  stillness 
was  the  more  impressive,  contrasted  with  the  dis- 
tant sound  of  music  and  merriment  from  the  fair. 
I could  not  take  my  eyes  off  from  the  poor  sup- 
pliant ; her  lips  moved  as  she  told  her  beads,  but 
her  prayers  were  breathed  in  silence.  It  might 
have  been  mere  fancy  excited  by  the  scene,  that, 
as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  he^en,  I thought  they 
had  an  expression  truly  seraphic.  But  I am 
easily  affected,  by  female  beauty,  and  there  wad 


374 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


something  in  this  mixture  of  love,  devotion,  and 
partial  insanity,  inexpressibly  touching. 

As  the  poor  girl  left  the  chapel,  there  was  a 
sweet  serenity  in  her  looks  ; and  I was  told  she 
would  return  home,  and  in  all  probability  be  calm 
and  cheerful  for  days,  and  even  weeks ; in  which 
time  it  was  supposed  that  hope  predominated  in 
her  mental  malady ; and  when  the  dark  side  of 
her  mind,  as  her  friends  call  it,  was  about  to  turn 
up,  it  would  be  known  by  her  neglecting  her  dis- 
taff or  her  lace,  singing  plaintive  songs,  and  weep- 
ing in  silence. 

She  passed  on  from  the  chapel  without  notic- 
ing the  fete,  but  smiling  and  speaking  to  many  as 
she  passed.  I followed  her  with  my  eyes  as  she 
descended  the  winding  road  towards  Honfleur, 
leaning  on  her  father’s  arm.  “ Heaven,”  thought 
I,  “ has  ever  its  store  of  balms  for  the  hurt  mind 
and  wounded  spirit,  and  may  in  time  rear  up  this 
broken  flower  to  be  once  more  the  pride  and  joy 
of  the  valley.  The  very  delusion  in  which  the 
poor  girl  walks  may  be  one  of  those  mists  kindly 
diffused  by  Providence  over  the  regions  of  thought, 
when  they  become  too  fruitful  of  misery.  The 
veil  may  gradually  be  raised  which  obscures  the 
horizon  of  her  mind,  as  she  is  enabled  steadily 
and  calmly  to  contemplate  the  sorrows  at  present 
hidden  in  mercy  from  her  view.” 

On  my  return  from  Paris,  about  a year  after- 
wards, I turned  off  from  the  beaten  route  at  Rouen, 
to  revisit  some  of  the  most  striking  scenes  of 
Lower  Normandy.  Having  passed  through  the 


ANNETTE  DEL  ARB  RE. 


375 


lovely  country  of  the  Pays  d’Auge,  I reached 
Honfleur  on  a tine  afternoon,  intending  to  cross  to 
Havre  the  next  morning,  and  embark  for  England. 
As  I had  no  better  way  of  passing  the  evening,  I 
strolled  up  the  hill  to  enjoy  the  fine  prospect 
from  the  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace  ; and 
while  there,  I thought  of  inquiring  after  the  fate 
of  poor  Annette  Delarbre.  The  priest  who  had 
told  me  her  story  was  officiating  at  vespers,  after 
which  I accosted  him,  and  learnt  from  him  the 
remaining  circumstances.  He  told  me  that  from 
the  time  I had  seen  her  at  the  chapel,  her  disor- 
der took  a sudden  turn  for  the  worse,  and  her 
health  rapidly  declined.  Her  cheerful  intervals 
became  shorter  and  less  frequent,  and  attended 
with  more  incoherency.  She  grew  languid,  silent, 
and  moody  in  her  melancholy ; her  form  was 
wasted,  her  looks  were  pale  and  disconsolate,  and 
it  was  feared  she  would  never  recover.  She  be- 
came impatient  of  all  sounds  of  gayety,  and  was 
never  so  contented  as  when  Eugene’s  mother  was 
near  her.  The  good  woman  watched  over  her 
with  patient,  yearning  solicitude  ; and  in  seeking 
to  beguile  her  ^sorrows,  would  half  forget  her  own. 
Sometimes,  as  she  sat  looking  upon  her  pallid  face, 
the  tears  would  fill  her  eyes,  which  when  An- 
nette perceived,  she  would  anxiously  wipe  them 
away,  and  tell  her  not  to  grieve,  for  that  Eugene 
would  soon  return  ; and  then  she  would  affect  a 
forced  gayety,  as  in  former  times,  and  sing  a 
lively  air ; but  a sudden  recollection  would  come 
oyer  her,  and  she  would  burst  into  tears,  hang  on 
the  poor  mother’s  neck,  and  entreat  her  not  to 
?urse  her  for  having  destroyed  her  son. 


376 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 


Just  at  this  time,  to  the  astonishment  of  every 
one,  news  was  received  of  Eugene ; who,  it  ap- 
pears, was  still  living.  When  almost  drowned, 
he  had  fortunately  seized  upon  a spar  washed 
from  the  ship’s  deck.  Finding  himself  nearly 
exhausted,  he  fastened  himself  to  it,  and  floated 
for  a day  and  night,  until  all  sense  left  him.  On 
recovering,  he  found  himself  on  board  a vessel 
bound  to  India,  but  so  ill  as  not  to  move  without 
assistance.  His  health  continued  precarious 
throughout  the  voyage  ; on  arriving  in  India,  he 
experienced  many  vicissitudes,  and  was  transferred 
from  ship  to  ship,  and  hospital  to  hospital.  His 
constitution  enabled  him  to  struggle  through 
every  hardship ; and  he  was  now  in  a distant 
port,  waiting  only  for  the  sailing  of  a ship  to  re- 
turn home. 

Great  caution  was  necessary  in  imparting  these 
tidings  to  the  mother,  and  even  then  she  was 
nearly  overcome  by  the  transports  of  her  joy. 
But  how  to  impart  them  to  Annette  was  a matter 
of  still  greater  perplexity.  Her  state  of  mind 
had  been  so  morbid,  she  had  been  subject  to 
such  violent  changes,  and  the  cause  of  her  de- 
rangement had  been  of  such  an  inconsolable  and 
hopeless  kind,  that  her  friends  had  always  forborne 
to  tamper  with  her  feelings.  They  had  never 
even  hinted  at  the  subject  of  her  griefs,  nor  encour- 
aged the  theme  when  she  adverted  to  it,  but  had 
passed  it  over  in  silence,  hoping  that  time  would 
gradually  wear  the  traces  of  it  from  her  recollec- 
tion, or,  at  least,  would  render  them  less  painful. 
They  now  felt  at  a loss  how  to  undeceive  her 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


377 


even  ii . her  misery,  lest  the  sudden  recurrence  of 
happiness  might  confirm  the  estrangement  of  her 
reason,  or  might  overpower  her  enfeebled  frame. 
They  ventured,  however,  to  probe  those  wounds 
which  they  formerly  did  not  dare  to  touch,  for 
they  now  had  the  balm  to  pour  into  them.  They 
led  the  conversation  to  those  topics  which  they 
had  hitherto  shunned,  and  endeavored  to  ascertain 
the  current  of  her  thoughts  in  those  varying  moods 
which  had  formerly  perplexed  them.  They  found 
her  mind  even  more  affected  than  they  had  imag- 
ined. All  her  ideas  were  confused  and  wander- 
ing. Her  bright  and  cheerful  moods,  which  now 
grew  seldom er  than  ever,  were  all  the  effects  of 
mental  delusion.  At  such  times  she  had  no  rec- 
ollection of  her  lover’s  having  been  in  danger,  but 
was  orly  anticipating  his  arrival.  “ When  the 
winter  has  passed  away,”  said  she,  “ and  the  trees 
put  on  their  blossoms,  and  the  swallow  comes 
back  over  the  sea,  he  will  return.”  When  she 
was  drooping  and  desponding,  it  was  in  vain  to 
remind  her  of  what  she  had  said  in  her  gayer 
moments,  and  to  assure  her  that  Eugene  would 
indeed  return  shortly.  She  wept  on  in  silence, 
and  appeared  insensible  to  their  words.  But  at 
times  her  agitation  became  violent,  when  she 
would  upbraid  herself  with  having  driven  Eugene 
from  his  mother,  and  brought  sorrow  on  her  gray 
hairs.  Her  mind  admitted  but  one  leading  idea 
at  a time,  which  nothing  could  avert  or  efface  ; or 
if  they  ever  succeeded  in  interrupting  the  current 
of  her  fancy,  it  only  became  the  more  incoherent, 
and  increased  the  feverishness  that  preyed  upon 


378 


BRA  CBBRIDGE  HALL. 


both  mind  and  body.  Her  friends  felt  more  alarm 
for  her  than  ever,  for  they  feared  her  senses  were 
irrevocably  gone,  and  her  constitution  completely 
undermined. 

In  the  mean  time  Eugene  returned  to  the  vil- 
lage. He  was  violently  affected  when  the  story 
of  Annette  was  told  him.  With  bitterness  of 
heart  he  upbraided  his  own  rashness  and  infatua- 
tion that  had  hurried  him  away  from  her,  and  ac- 
cused himself  as  the  author  of  all  her  woes.  His 
mother  would  describe  to  him  all  the  anguish  and 
remorse  of  poor  Annette  ; the  tenderness  with 
which  she  clung  to  her,  and  endeavored,  even  in 
the  midst  of  her  insanity,  to  console  her  for  the  loss 
of  her  son  ; and  the  touching  expressions  of  affec- 
tion mingled  with  her  most  incoherent  wanderings 
of  thought,  until  his  feelings  would  be  wound  up 
to  agony,  and  he  would  entreat  her  to  desist  from 
the  recital.  They  did  not  dare  as  yet  to  bring  him 
into  Annette’s  sight ; but  he  was  permitted  to  see 
her  when  she  was  sleeping.  The  tears  streamed 
down  his  sunburnt  cheeks  as  he  contemplated 
the  ravages  which  grief  and  malady  had  made ; 
and  his  heart  swelled  almost  to  breaking  as  he 
beheld  round  her  neck  the  very  braid  of  hair 
which  she  once  gave  him  in  token  of  girlish  affec- 
tion, and  which  he  had  returned  to  her  in  anger. 

At  length  the  physician  that  attended  her  de- 
termined to  adventure  upon  an  experiment ; to 
take  advantage  of  one  of  those  cheerful  moods 
when  her  mind  was  visited  by  hope,  and  to  en- 
deavor to'  engraft,  as  it  were,  the  reality  upon  the 
delusions  of  her  fancy.  These  moods  had  now 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


379 


become  very  rare,  for  nature  was  sinking  under 
the  continual  pressure  of  her  mental  malady,  and 
the  principle  of  reaction  was  daily  growing 
weaker.  Every  effort  was  tried  to  bring  on  a 
cheerful  interval  of  the  kind.  Several  of  her 
most  favorite  companions  were  kept  continually 
about  her  ; they  chatted  gayly,  they  laughed,  and 
sang,  and  danced ; but  Annette  reclined  with 
languid  frame  and  hollow  eye,  and  took  no  part 
in  their  gayety.  At  length  the  winter  was  gone ; 
the  trees  put  forth  their  leaves ; the  swallows  be- 
gan to  build  in  the  eaves  of  the  house,  and  the 
robin  and  wren  piped  all  day  beneath  the  window. 
Annette’s  spirits  gradually  revived.  She  began 
to  deck  her  person  with  unusual  care  ; and  bring- 
ing forth  a basket  of  artificial  flowers,  went  to  work 
to  wreathe  a bridal  chaplet  of  white  roses.  Her 
companions  asked  her  why  she  prepared  the 
chaplet.  “ What ! ” said  she  with  a smile,  “ have 
you  not  noticed  the  trees  putting  on  their  wed- 
ding-dresses of  blossoms  ? Has  not  the  swallow 
flown  back  over  the  sea  ? Do  you  not  know  that 
the  time  is  come  for  Eugene  to  return  ? that  he 
will  be  home  to-morrow,  and  that  on  Sunday  we 
are  to  be  married  ? ” 

Her  words  were  repeated  to  the  physician,  and 
he  seized  on  them  at  once.  He  directed  that  her 
idea  should  be  encouraged  and  acted  upon.  Her 
words  were  echoed  through  the  house.  Every 
one  talked  of  the  return  of  Eugene  as  a matter 
of  course  ; they  congratulated  her  upon  her  ap- 
proaching happiness,  and  assisted  her  in  her  prep- 
arations. The  next  morning  the  same  theme  was 


380 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


resumed.  She  was  dressed  out  to  receive  her 
lover.  Every  bosom  fluttered  with  anxiety.  A 
cabriolet  drove  into  the  village.  “ Eugene  is  com- 
ing ! ” was  the  cry.  She  saw  him  alight  at  the 
door,  and  rushed  with  a shriek  into  his  arms. 

Her  friends  trembled  for  the  result  of  this  crit- 
ical experiment ; but  she  did  not  sink  under  it, 
for  her  fancy  had  prepared  her  for  his  return. 
She  was  as  one  in  a dream,  to  whom  a tide  of 
unlooked-for  prosperity,  that  would  have  over- 
whelmed his  waking  reason,  seems  but  the  natu- 
ral current  of  circumstances.  Her  conversation, 
however,  showed  that  her  senses  were  wandering. 
There  was  an  absolute  forgetfulness  of  all  past 
sorrow ; a wild  and  feverish  gayety  that  at  times 
was  incoherent. 

The  next  morning  she  awoke  languid  and  ex- 
hausted.- All  the  occurrences  of  the  preceding 
day  had  passed  away  from  her  mind  as  though 
they  had  been  the  mere  illusions  of  her  fancy.  She 
rose  melancholy  and  abstracted,  and  as  she  dressed 
herself,  was  heard  to  sing  one  of  her  plaintive 
ballads.  When  she  entered  the  parlor,  her  eyes 
were  swollen  with  weeping.  She  heard  Eugene’s 
voice  without,  and  started ; passed  her  hand 
across  her  forehead,  and  stood  musing,  like  one 
endeavoring  to  recall  a dream.  Eugene  entered 
the  room,  and  advanced  towards  her  ; she  looked 
at  him  with  an  eager,  searching  look,  murmured 
gome  indistinct  words,  and,  before  he  could  reach 
her,  sank  upon  the  floor. 

She  relapsed  into  a wild  and  unsettled  state  of 
mind ; but  now  that  the  first  shock  was  over,  the 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


381 


physician  ordered  that  Eugene  should  keep  con- 
tinually in  her  sight.  Sometimes  she  did  not 
know  him  ; at  other  times  she  would  talk  to  him 
as  if  he  were  going  to  sea,  and  would  implore 
him  not  to  part  from  her  in  anger  ; and  when  he 
was  not  present,  she  would  speak  of  him  as  if 
buried  in  the  ocean,  and  would  sit,  with  clasped 
hands,  looking  upon  the  ground,  the  picture  of 
despair. 

As  the  agitation  of  her  feelings  subsided,  and  her 
frame  recovered  from  the  shock  it  had  received,  she 
became  more  placid  and  coherent.  Eugene  kept 
almost  continually  near  her.  He  formed  the  real 
object  round  which  her  scattered  ideas  once  more 
gathered,  and  which  linked  them  once  more  with 
the  realities  of  life.  But  her  changeful  disorder 
now  appeared  to  take  a new  turn.  She  became 
languid  and  inert,  and  would  sit  for  hours  silent, 
and  almost  in  a state  of  lethargy.  If  roused  from 
this  stupor,  it  seemed  as  if  her  mind  would  make 
some  attempt  to  follow  up  a train  of  thought,  but 
would  soon  become  confused.  She  would  regard 
every  one  that  approached  her  with  an  anxious 
and  inquiring  eye,  that  seemed  continually  to  dis- 
appoint itself.  Sometimes,  as  her  lover  sat  hold- 
ing her  hand,  she  would  look  pensively  in  his 
face  without  saying  a word,  until  his  heart  was 
overcome  ; and  after  these  transient  fits  of  intel- 
lectual exertion,  she  would  sink  again  into  leth- 

^gy- 

By  degrees  this  stupor  increased ; her  mind 
appeared  to  have  subsided  into  a stagnant  and  al- 
most deathhke  calm.  For  the  greater  part  of  the 


382 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


time  her  eyes  were  closed ; her  face  was  almost 
as  fixed  and  passionless  as  that  of  a corpse.  She 
no  longer  took  any  notice  of  surrounding  objects. 
There  was  an  awfulness  in  this  tranquillity  that 
filled  her  friends  with  apprehensions.  The  phy- 
sician ordered  that  she  should  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet ; or  that,  if  she  evinced  any  agitation,  she 
should  be  gently  lulled,  like  a child,  by  some  fa- 
vorite tune. 

She  remained  in  this  state  for  hours,  hardly 
seeming  to  breathe,  and  apparently  sinking  into 
'the  sleep  of  death.  Her  chamber  was  profoundly 
still.  The  attendants  moved  about  it  with  noise- 
less tread  ; everything  was  communicated  by  signs 
and  whispers.  Her  lover  sat  by  her  side  watch- 
ing her  with  painful  anxiety,  and  fearing  every 
breath  which  stole  from  her  pale  lips  would  be  the 
last. 

At  length  she  heaved  a deep  sigh  ; and  from 
some  convulsive  motions,  appeared  to  be  troubled 
in  her  sleep.  Her  agitation  increased,  accom- 
panied by  an  indistinct  moaning.  One  of  her 
companions,  remembering  the  physician’s  instruc- 
tions, endeavored  to  lull  her  by  singing,  in  a lqw 
voice,  a tender  little  air,  which  was  a particular 
favorite  of  Annette’s.  Probably  it  had  some  con- 
nection in  her  mind  with  her  own  story ; for  every 
fond  girl  has  some  ditty  of  the  kind,  linked  in  her 
thoughts  with  sweet  and  sad  remembrances. 

As  she  sang,  the  agitation  of  Annette  subsided. 
A streak  of  faint  color  came  into  her  cheeks ; 
her  eyelids  became  swollen  with  rising  tears 
which  trembled  there  for  a moment,  and  then, 


AJSNLT'Vt  UELAUULiIL 


3 88 


stealing  forth,  coursed  down  her  pallid  cheek. 
When  the  song  was  ended,  she  opened  her  eyes, 
and  looked  about  her,  as  one  awaking  in  a strange 
place. 

“ Oh  Eugene  ! Eugene  ! ” said  she,  “ it  seems 
as  if  I have  had  a long  and  dismal  dream : what 
has  happened,  and  what  has  been  the  matter  with 
me  ? ” 

The  questions  were  embarrassing ; and  before 
they  could  be  answered,  the  physician,  who  was 
in  the  next  room,  entered.  She  took  him  by  the 
hand,  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  made  the  same 
inquiry.  He  endeavored  to  put  her  off  with  some 
evasive  answer.  “ No,  no  ! ” cried  she,  u I know 
I have  been  ill,  and  I have  been  dreaming  strangely, 
T thought  Eugene  had  left  us  — and  that  he  had 
gone  to  sea  — and  that — and  that  he  was 
drowned  ! — But  he  has  been  to  sea  ! ” added  she 
earnestly,  as  recollection  kept  flashing  upon  her, 
“ and  he  has  been  wrecked  — and  we  were  all  so 
wretched  — and  he  came  home  again  one  bright 
morning  — and  — oh  ! ” said  she,  pressing  her 
hand  against  her  forehead  with  a sickly  smile,  u I 
see  how  it  is  ; all  has  not  been  right  here.  I be- 
gin to  recollect  — but  it  is  afi  past  now  — Eu- 
gene is  here ! and  his  mother  is  happy  — and 
we  will  never  — never  part  again  — shall  we, 
Eugene  ? ” 

She  sunk  back  in  her  chair  exhausted ; the 
tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks.  Her  compan- 
ions hovered  round  her,  not  knowing  what  to 
make  of  this  sudden  dawn  of  reason.  Her  lover 
sobbed  aloud.  She  opened  her  eyes  again,  and 


384 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


looked  upon  them  with  an  air  of  the  sweetest  ao- 
knowledgment.  “ You  are  all  sc  good  to  me  ! ’ 
said  she,  faintly. 

The  physician  drew  the  father  aside.  “Your 
daughter’s  mind  is  restored,”  said  he  ; “ she  is 
sensible  that  she  has  been  deranged ; she  is  grow- 
ing conscious  of  the  past,  and  conscious  of  the 
present.  All  that  now  remains  is  to  keep  her 
calm  and  quiet  until  her  health  is  reestablished, 
and  then  let  her  be  married,  in  God’s  name  ! ” 

“ The  wedding  took  place,”  continued  the  good 
priest,  “but  a short  time  since ; they  were  here 
at  the  last  fete  during  their  honey-moon,  and  a 
handsomer  and  happier  couple  was  not  to  be  seen 
as  they  danced  under  yonder  trees.  The  young 
man,  his  wife,  and  mother,  now  live  on  a fine  farm 
at  Pont  L’Eveque ; and  that  model  of  a ship 
which  you  see  yonder,  with  white  flowers  wreathed 
round  it,  is  Annette’s  offering  of  thanks  to  our 
Lady  of  Grace,  for  having  listened  to  her  prayers, 
and  protected  her  lover  in  the  hour  of  peril.” 

The  captain  having  finished,  there  was  a mo- 
mentary silence.  The  tender-hearted  Lady  Lil- 
ly craft,  who  knew  the  story  by  heart,  had  led  the 
way  in  weeping,  and  indeed  often  began  to  shed 
tears  before  they  came  to  the  right  place. 

The  fair  Julia  was  ’a  little  flurried  at  the  pas- 
sage where  wedding  preparations  were  mentioned  ; 
but  the  auditor  most  affected  was  the  simple 
Phoebe  Wilkins.  She  hud  gradually  dropped  her 
work  in  her  lap,  and  sat  sobbing  through  the  lat- 
ter part  of  the  story,  ur  til  towards  the  end,  when 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


385 


the  happy  reverse  had  nearly  produced  another 
scene  of  hysterics.  “ Go,  take  this  case  to  my 
room  again,  child,”  said  Lady  Lilly  craft  kindly, 
“ and  don’t  cry  so  much.” 

“ I won’t,  an’t  please  your  ladyship,  if  I can 
help  it ; — but  I ’m  glad  they  made  all  up  again, 
and  were  married  ! ” 

By  the  way,  the  case  of  this  lovelorn  damsel 
begins  to  make  some  talk  in  the  household,  espe- 
cially among  certain  little  ladies,  not  far  in  their 
teens,  of  whom  she  has  made  confidants.  She  is 
a great  favorite  with  them  all,  but  particularly  so 
since  she  has  confided  to  them  her  love-secrets 
They  enter  into  her  concerns  with  all  the  violent 
zeal  and  overwhelming  sympathy  with  which  lit- 
tle boarding-school  ladies  engage  in  the  politics  of 
a love-affair. 

I have  noticed  them  frequently  clustering 
about  her  in  private  conferences,  or  walking  up 
and  down  the  garden-terrace  under  my  window, 
listening  to  some  long  and  dolorous  story  of  her 
afflictions  ; of  which  I could  now  and  then  dis- 
tinguish the  ever-recurring  phrases  “ says  he,”  and 
“ says  she.” 

I accidentally  interrupted  one  of  these  little 
councils  of  war,  when  they  were  all  huddled  to- 
gether under  a tree,  and  seemed  to  be  earnestly 
considering  some  interesting  document.  Theflut- 
ter  at  my  approach  showed  that  there  were  some 
secrets  under  discussion  ; and  I observed  the  dis- 
consolate Phoebe  crumpling  into  her  bosom  eithei 
a love-letter  or  an  old  valentine,  and  brushing 
away  the  tears  from  her  cheeks. 

25 


386 


BRACEBRJDGE  BALL 


The  girl  is  a good  girl,  of  a soft,  melting  na- 
ture, and  shows  her  concern  at  the  cruelty  of  her 
lover  only  in  tears  and  drooping  looks;  but  with 
the  little  ladies  who  have  espoused  her  cause,  it 
sparkles  up  into  fiery  indignation ; and  I have 
noticed  on  Sunday  many  a glance  darted  at  the 
pew  of  the  Tibbets’s,  enough  even  to  melt  down 
the  silver  buttons  on  old  Ready-Money’s  jacket 


TRAVELLING. 


A citizen,  for  recreation  sake, 

To  see  the  country  would  a journey  take 
Some  dozen  mile,  or  very  little  more ; 

Taking  his  leave  with  friends  two  months  before 
With  drinking  healths,  and  shaking  by  the  hand, 

As  he  had  travail’d  to  some  new-found  land. 

Doctor  Merrie  Man,  1G09. 


HE  Squire  has  lately  received  another 
shock  in  the  saddle,  and  been  almost 
unseated  by  his  marplot  neighbor,  the 
indefatigable  Mr.  Faddy,  who  rides  his  jog-trot 
hobby  with  equal  zeal ; and  is  so  bent  upon  im- 
proving and  reforming  the  neighborhood,  that  the 
Squire  thinks,  in  a little  while,  it  will  be  scarce 
worth  living  in.  The  enormity  that  has  thus  dis- 
composed my  worthy  host  is  an  attempt  of  the 
manufacturer  to  have  a line  of  coaches  established, 
that  shall  diverge  from  the  old  route,  and  pass 
through  the  neighboring  village. 

I believe  I have  mentioned  that  the  Hall  is 
situated  in  a retired  part  of  the  country,  at  a dis- 
tance from  any  great  coach-road  ; insomuch  that 
the  arrival  of  a traveller  is  apt  to  make  every  one 
look  out  of  the  window,  and  to  cause  some  talk 
among  the  ale-drinkers  at  the  little  inn.  I was 
at  a loss,  therefore,  to  account  for  the  Squire’s 
indignation  at  a measure  apparently  fraught  with 


388 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


convenience  and  advantage,  until  I found  that  the 
conveniences  of  travelling  were  among  his  great- 
est grievances. 

In  fact,  he  rails  against  stage-coaches,  post 
chaises,  and  turnpike  roads,  as  serious  causes  of 
the  corruption  of  English  rural  manners.  They 
have  given  facilities,  he  says,  to  every  humdrum 
citizen  to  trundle  his  family  about  the  kingdom, 
and  have  sent  the  follies  and  fashions  of  town 
whirling,  in  coach-loads,  to  the  remotest  parts  of 
the  island.  The  whole  country,  he  says,  is  trav- 
ersed by  these  flying  cargoes  ; every  by-road  is 
explored  by  enterprising  tourists  from  Cheapside 
and  the  Poultry,  and  every  gentleman’s  park  and 
lawns  invaded  by  cockney  sketchers  of  both  sexes, 
with  portable  chairs  and  portfolios  for  drawing. 

He  laments  over  this  as  destroying  the  charm 
of  privacy,  and  interrupting  the  quiet  of  country 
life  ; but  more  especially  as  affecting  the  simplic- 
ity of  the  peasantry,  and  filling  their  heads  with 
half-city  notions.  A great  coach-inn,  he  says,  is 
enough  to  ruin  the  manners  of  a whole  village. 
It  creates  a horde  of  sots  and  idlers  ; makes  gapers 
and  gazers  and  newsmongers  of  the  common  peo- 
ple, and  knowing  jockeys  of  the  'country  bump- 
kins. 

The  Squire  has  something  of  the  old  feudal 
feeling.  He  looks  back  with  regret  to  the  “ good 
old  times,”  when  journeys  were  only  made  on 
horseback,  and  the  extraordinary  difficulties  of 
travelling,  owing  to  bad  roads,  bad  accommodations, 
and  highway  robbers,  seemed  to  separate  each 
village  and  hamlet  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 


TRA  YELLING. 


389 


The  lord  of  the  manor  was  then  a kind  of  mon- 
arch in  the  little  realm  around  him.  He  held 
his  court  in  his  paternal  hall,  and  was  looked  up 
to  with  almost  as  much  loyalty  and  deference  as 
the  king  himself.  Every  neighborhood  was  a 
little  world  within  itself,  having  its  local  manners 
and  customs,  its  local  history  and  local  opinions. 
The  inhabitants  were  fonder  of  their  homes,  and 
thought  less  of  wandering.  It  was  looked  upon 
as  an  expedition  to  travel  out  of  sight  of  the  par- 
ish steeple ; and  a man  that  had  been  to  London 
was  a village  oracle  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

What  a difference  between  the  mode  of  trav- 
elling in  those  days  and  at  present ! At  that 
time,  when  a gentleman  went  on  a distant  visit, 
he  sallied  forth  like  a knight-errant  on  an  enter- 
prise, and  every  family  excursion  was  a pageant. 
How  splendid  and  fanciful  must  one  of  those  do- 
mestic cavalcades  have  been,  where  the  beautiful 
dames  were  mounted  on  palfreys  magnificently  ca- 
parisoned, with  embroidered  harness,  all  tinkling 
with  silver  bells ; attended  by  cavaliers  richly 
attired  on  prancing  steeds,  and  followed  by  pages 
and  serving-men,  as  we  see  them  represented  in 
old  tapestry.  The  gentry,  as  they  travelled  about 
in  those  days,  were  like  moving  pictures.  They 
delighted  the  eyes  and  awakened  the  admiration 
of  the  common  people,  and  passed  before  them 
like  superior  beings ; and  indeed  they  were  so ; 
there  was  a hardy  and  healthful  exercise  connected 
with  this  equestrian  style,  that  made  them  gener- 
ous and  noble. 

In  his  fondness  for  the  old  style  of  travelling, 


390 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALE. 


the  Squire  makes  most  of  his  journeys  on  horse- 
back, though  he  laments  the  modern  deficiency 
of  incident  on  the  road,  from  the  want  of  fellow- 
wayfarers,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  every  one 
else  is  whirled  along  in  coaches  and  post-chaises. 
In  the  “ good  old  times,”  on  the  contrary,  a cava- 
lier jogged  on  through  bog  and  mire,  from  town 
to  town,  and  hamlet  to  hamlet,  conversing  with 
friars  and  franklens,  and  all  other  chance  compan- 
ions of  the  road  ; beguiling  the  way  with  trav- 
ellers’ tales,  which  then  were  truly  wonderful, 
for  everything  beyond  one’s  neighborhood  was  full 
of  marvel  and  romance  ; stopping  at  night  at  some 
“ hostel,”  where  the  bush  over  the  door  proclaimed 
good  wine,  or  a pretty  hostess  made  bad  wine 
palatable ; meeting  at  supper  with  travellers,  or 
listening  to  the  song  or  merry  story  of  the  host,  who 
was  generally  a boon  companion,  and  presided  at 
his  own  board  ; for,  according  to  old  Tusser’s  “ Inn- 
holder’s Poesie,” 

“ At  meales  my  friend  who  vitleth  here 
And  sitteth  with  his  host, 

Shall  both  be  sure  of  better  cheere, 

And  ’scape  with  lesser  cost.” 

The  Squire  is  fond,  too,  of  stopping  at  those 
inns  which  may  be  met  with,  here  and  there,  in 
ancient  houses  of  wood  and  plaster,  or  calimanco 
houses,  as  they  are  called  by  antiquaries,  with 
deep  porches,  diamond-paned  bow- windows,  pan- 
elled rooms,  and  great  fireplaces.  He  will  prefer 
them  to  more  spacious  and  modern  inns,  and 
would  cheerfully  put  up  with  bad  cheer  and  bad 
accommodations  in  the  gratification  of  his  humor. 


TEA  YELLING. 


391 


They  give  him,  he  says,  the  feeling  of  old  times, 
insomuch  that  he  almost  expects,  in  the  dusk  of 
the  evening,  to  see  some  party  of  weary  travellers 
ride  up  to  the  door,  with  plumes  and  mantles, 
trunk-hose,  wide  boots,  and  long  rapiers. 

The  good  Squire’s  remarks  brought  to  mind  a 
visit  I once  paid  to  the  Tabard  Inn,  famous  for 
being  the  place  of  assemblage  whence  Chaucer’s 
pilgrims  set  forth  for  Canterbury.  It  is  in  the 
borough  of  Southwark,  not  far  from  London 
Bridge,  and  bears,  at  present,  the  name  of  u The 
Talbot.”  It  has  sadly  declined  in  dignity  since 
the  days  of  Chaucer,  being  a mere  rendezvous 
and  packing-place  of  the  great  wagons  that  travel 
into  Kent.  The  court-yard,  which  was  anciently 
the  mustering  - place  of  the  pilgrims  previous  to 
their  departure,  was  now  lumbered  with  huge 
wagons.  Crates,  boxes,  hampers,  and  baskets, 
containing  the  good  things  of  town  and  country, 
were  piled  about  them ; while,  among  the  straw 
and  litter,  the  motherly  hens  scratched  and  clucked, 
with  their  hungry  broods  at  their  heels.  Instead 
of  Chaucer’s  motley  and  splendid  throng,  I only 
saw  a group  of  wagoners  and  stable-boys  enjoy- 
ing a circulating  pot  of  ale  ; while  a long-bodied 
dog  sat  by,  with  head  on  one  side,  ear  cocked  up, 
and  wistful  gaze,  as  if  waiting  for  his  turn  at  the 
tankard. 

Notwithstanding  this  grievous  declension,  how- 
ever, I was  gratified  at  perceiving  that  the  pres- 
ent occupants  were  not  unconscious  of  the  poeti- 
cal renown  of  .their  mansion.  An  inscription 
&ver  the  gateway  proclaimed  it  to  be  the  inn 


392 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


where  Chaucer’s  pilgrims  slept  on  the  night  pre« 
vious  to  their  departure,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
yard  was  a magnificent  sign,  representing  them 
in  the  act  of  sallying  forth.  I was  pleased,  too, 
at  noticing,  that  though  the  present  inn  was  com- 
paratively modern,  the  form  of  the  old  inn  was 
preserved.  There  were  galleries  round  the  yard, 
as  in  old  times,  on  which  opened  the  chambers  of 
the  guests.  To  these  ancient  inns  have  antiqua- 
ries ascribed  the  present  forms  of  our  theatres. 
Plays  were  originally  acted  in  the  inn-yards.  The 
guests  lolled  over  the  galleries,  which  answered 
to  our  modern  dress-circle  ; the  critical  mob  clus- 
tered in  the  yard  instead  of  the  pit ; and  the 
groups  gazing  from  the  gar  ret- windows  were  no 
bad  representatives  of  the  gods  of  the  shilling 
gallery.  When,  therefore,  the  drama  grew  im- 
portant enough  to  have  a house  of  its  own,  the 
architects  took  a hint  for  its  construction  from 
the  yard  of  the  ancient  “ hostel.” 

I was  so  well  pleased  at  finding  these  remem- 
brances of  Chaucer  and  his  poem,  that  I ordered 
my  dinner  in  the  little  parlor  of  the  Talbot, 
Whilst  it  was  preparing,  I sat  at  the  window, 
musing,  and  gazing  into  the  court-yard,  and  con- 
luring  up  recollections  of  the  scenes  depicted  in 
such  lively  colors  by  the  poet,  until,  by  degrees, 
boxes,  bales,  and  hampers,  boys,  wagoners,  and 
dogs  faded  from  sight,  and  my  fancy  peopled 
the  place  with  the  motley  throng  of  Canterbury 
pilgrims.  The  galleries  once  more  swarmed  with 
idle  gazers,  in  the  rich  dresses  of  Chaucer’s  time, 
and  the  whole  cavalcade  seemed  to  pass  before 


TRA  YELLING . 


393 


me.  There  was  the  stately  knight  on  sober  steed, 
who  had  ridden  in  Christendom  and  heathenesse, 
and  had  “ foughten  for  our  faith  at  Tramissene  ” ; 
— and  his  son,  the  young  squire,  a lover,  and  a 
lusty  bachelor,  with  curled  locks  and  gay  em- 
broidery ; a bold  rider,  a dancer,  and  a writer  of 
verses,  singing  and  fluting  all  day  long,  and 
“ fresh  as  the  month  of  May  ” ; — and  his  “ knot- 
headed ” yeoman  ; a bold  forester,  in  green,  with 
horn,  and  baudrick,  and  dagger  ; a mighty  bow 
in  hand,  and  a sheaf  of  peacock  arrows  shining 
beneath  his  belt ; — and  the  coy,  smiling,  simple 
nun,  with  her  gray  eyes,  her  small  red  mouth  and 
fair  forehead,  her  dainty  person  clad  in  featly 
cloak  and  “ ’ypinched  wimple,”  her  coral  beads 
about  her  arm,  her  golden  brooch  with  a love- 
motto,  and  her  pretty  oath  “ by  Saint  Eloy  ” ; — 
and  the  merchant,  solemn  in  speech  and  high  on 
horse,  with  forked  beard  and  u Flaundrish  bever 
hat  ” ; — and  the  lusty  monk,  “ full  fat  and  in 
good  point,”  with  berry-brown  palfrey,  his  hood 
fastened  with  gold  pin,  wrought  with  a love-knot 
his  bald  head  shining  like  glass,  and  his  face  glis 
tening  as  though  it  had  been  anointed  ; — and  the 
lean,  logical,  sententious  clerke  of  Oxenforde, 
upon  his  half-starved,  scholarlike  horse  ; — and 
the  bowsing  sompnour,  with  fiery-cherub  face,  ail 
knobbed  with  pimples,  an  eater  of  garlic  and 
onions,  and  drinker  of  “ strong  wine,  red  aa 
blood,”  that  carried  a cake  for  a buckler,  and 
babbled  Latin  in  his  cups ; of  whose  brimstone 
visage  “ children  were  sore  aferd  ” ; — and  the 
Duxom  wife  of  Bath,  the  widow  of  five  husbands 


394 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


upon  her  ambling  nag,  with  her  hat  broad  as  a 
buckler,  her  red  stockings  and  sharp  spurs ; — 
and  the  slender,  choleric  reeve  of  Norfolk,  be- 
striding his  good  gray  stot ; with  close-shaven 
beard,  his  hair  cropped  round  his  ears ; long,  lean 
calfless  legs  and  a rusty  blade  by  his  side ; — 
and  the  jolly  Limitour,  with  lisping  tongue  and 
twinkling  eye,  well  beloved  of  franklens  and 
housewives,  a great  promoter  of  marriages  among 
young  women,  known  at  the  taverns  in  every  town 
and  by  every  “ hosteler  and  gay  tapstere.”  In 
short,  before  I was  roused  from  my  reverie  by  the 
less  poetical,  but  more  substantial  apparition  of 
a smoking  beefsteak,  I had  seen  the  whole  caval- 
cade issue  forth  from  the  hostel-gate,  with  the 
brawny,  double-jointed,  red-haired  miller,  playing 
the  bagpipes  before  them,  and  the  ancient  host 
of  the  Tabard  giving  them  his  farewell  God-send 
to  Canterbury. 

When  I told  the  Squire  of  the  existence  of  this 
legitimate  descendant  of  the  ancient  .Tabard  Inn, 
his  eyes  absolutely  glistened  with  delight.  He 
determined  to  hunt  it  up  the  very  first  time  he 
visited  London,  and  to  eat  a dinner  there,  and 
drink  a cup  of  mine  host’s  best  wine,  in  memory 
of  old  Chaucer.  The  general,  who  happened  to 
be  present,  immediately  begged  to  be  of  the  party, 
for  he  liked  to  encourage  these  long-<  istablished 
houses,  as  they  are  apt  to  have  choice  old  wines. 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 

Farewell  rewards  and  fairies, 

Good  housewives  now  may  say  ; 

For  now  fowle  sluts  in  dairies 
Do  fare  as  well  as  they : 

And  though  they  sweepe  their  hearths  no  lesse 
Than  maids  were  wont  to  doe, 

Yet  who  of  late  for  cleanlinesse 
Finds  sixpence  in  her  shooe  ? 

Bishop  Corbet. 

HAVE  mentioned  the  Squire’s  fondness 
for  the  marvellous,  and  his  predilection 
for  legends  and  romances.  His  librarj 
contains  a curious  collection  of  old  works  of  this 
kind,  which  bear  evident  marks  of  having  been 
much  read.  In  his  great  love  for  all  that  is  an- 
tiquated, he  cherishes  popular  superstitions,  and 
listens,  with  very  grave  attention,  to  every  tale, 
however  strange  ; so  that,  through  his  countenance, 
the  household,  and  indeed  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, is  well  stocked  with  wonderful  stories ; and 
if  ever  a doubt  is  expressed  of  any  one  of  them, 
the  nanator  will  generally  observe,  that  “ the 
Squire  thinks  there ’s  something  in  it.” 

The  Hall  of  course  comes  in  for  its  share,  the 
common  people  having  always  a propensity  to 
furnish  a great  superannuated  building  of  the 


396 


BRACEBRIDUE  HALL . 


kind  with  supernatural  inhabitants.  The  gloomy 
galleries  of  such  old  family  mansions ; the  stately 
chambers,  adorned  with  grotesque  carvings  and 
faded  paintings ; the  sounds  that  vaguely  echo 
about  them  ; the  moaning  of  the  wind  ; the  cries 
of  rooks  and  ravens  from  the  trees  and  chimney- 
tops  ; all  produce  a state  of  mind  favorable  to 
superstitious  fancies. 

In  one  chamber  of  the  Hall,  just  opposite  a 
door  which  opens  upon  a dusky  passage,  there  is 
a full-length  portrait  of  a warrior  in  armor. 
When,  on  suddenly  turning  into  the  passage,  I 
have  caught  a sight  of  the  portrait,  thrown  into 
strong  relief  by  the  dark  panelling  against  which 
it  hangs,  I have  more  than  once  been  startled,  as 
though  it  were  a figure  advancing  towards  me. 

To  superstitious  minds,  therefore,  predisposed 
by  the  strange  and  melancholy  stories  connected 
with  family  paintings,  it  needs  but  little  stretch 
of  fancy,  on  a moonlight  night,  or  by  the  flicker- 
ing light  of  a candle,  to  set  the  old  pictures  on 
the  walls  in  motion,  sweeping  in  their  robes  and 
trains  about  the  galleries. 

The  Squire  confesses  that  he  used  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  his  younger  days  in  setting  marvel- 
lous stories  afloat,  and  connecting  them  with  the 
lonely  and  peculiar  places  of  the  neighborhood. 
Whenever  he  read  any  legend  of  a striking  na- 
ture, he  endeavored  to  transplant  it,  and  give  it  a 
local  habitation  among  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood. 
Many  of  these  stories  took  root,  and  he  says  he 
is  often  amused  with  the  odd  shapes  in  which  they 
come  back  to  him  in  some  old  woman’s  uarrative. 


P OP  U LA  R S UPERS  TI TI ONS 


397 


after  they  have  been  circulating  for  years  among 
the  peasantry,  and  undergoing  rustic  additions 
and  amendments.  Among  these  may  doubtless 
be  numbered  that  of  the  crusader’s  ghost,  which 
I have  mentioned  in  the  account  of  my  Christ- 
mas visit ; and  another  about  the  hard-riding 
squire  of  yore,  the  family  Nimrod,  who  is  some- 
times heard  on  stormy  winter  nights,  galloping, 
with  hound  and  horn,  over  a wild  moor  a few 
miles  distant  from  the  Hall.  This  I apprehend 
to  have  had  its  origin  in  the  famous  story  of  the 
wild  huntsman,  the  favorite  goblin  in  German 
tales ; though,  by  the  by,  as  I was  talking  on  the 
subject  with  Master  Simon,  the  other  evening  in 
the  dark  avenue,  he  hinted  that  he  had  himself 
once  or  twice  heard  odd  sounds  at  night,  very 
like  a pack  of  hounds  in  cry  ; and  that  once,  as 
he  was  returning  rather  late  from  a hunting-din- 
ner, he  had  seen  a strange  figure  galloping  along 
this  same  moor  ; but  as  he  was  riding  rather  fast 
at  the  time,  and  in  a hurry  to  get  home,  he  did 
not  stop  to  ascertain  what  it  was. 

Popular  superstitions  are  fast  fading  away  in 
England,  owing  to  the  general  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge, and  the  bustling  intercourse  kept  up 
throughout  the  country  ; — still  they  have  their 
strongholds  and  lingering  places,  and  a retired 
peighborhood'  like  this  is  apt  to  be  one  of  them. 
The  parson  tells  me  that  he  meets  with  many  tra- 
ditional beliefs  and  notions  among  the  common 
people,  which  he  has  been  able  to  draw  from 
them  in  the  course  of  familiar  conversation, 
though  they  are  rather  shy  of  avowing  them  to 


398 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL 


strangers,  and  particularly  to  “ the  gentry  ” who 
are  apt  to  laugh  at  them.  He  says  there  are 
several  of  his  old  parishioners  who  remember 
when  the  village  had  its  bar-guest,  or  bar-ghost ; 
a spirit  supposed  to  belong  to  a town  or  village, 
and  to  predict  any  impending  misfortune  by  mid- 
night shrieks  and  wailings.  The  last  time  it  was 
heard  was  just  before  the  death  of  Mr  Brace- 
bridge’s  father,  who  was  much  beloved  through- 
out the  neighborhood ; though  there  are  not 
wanting  some  obstinate  unbelievers,  who  insisted 
that  it  was  nothing  but  the  howling  of  a watch- 
dog. I have  been  greatly  delighted,  however, 
at  meeting  with  some  traces  of  my  old  favorite, 
Bobin  Goodfellow,  though  under  a different  ap- 
pellation from  any  of  those  by  which  I have 
heretofore  heard  him  called.  The  parson  assures 
me  that  many  of  the  peasantry  believe  in  house- 
hold goblins,  called  Dobbies,  which  live  about 
particular  farms  and  houses,  in  the  same  way  that 
Robin  Goodfellow  did  of  old.  Sometimes  they 
haunt  the  barns  and  out-houses,  and  now  and  then 
will  assist  the  farmer  wonderfully,  by  getting  in 
all  his  hay  or  corn  in  a single  night.  In  general, 
however,  they  prefer  to  live  within  doors,  and 
are  fond  of  keeping  about  the  great  hearths,  and 
basking  at  night,  after  the  family  have  gone  to 
bed,  by  the  glowing  embers.  When  put  in  par- 
ticular good  humor  by  the  warmth  of  their  lodg- 
ings, and  the  tidiness  of  the  housemaids,  they  will 
overcome  their  natural  laziness,  and  do  a vast 
deal  of  household  work  before  morning  ; churn- 
ing the  cream,  brewing  the  beer,  or  spinning  all 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 


309 


the  good  dame’s  flax.  All  this  is  precisely  the 
conduct  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  described  so  charm- 
ingly by  Milton  : 

“ Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 

When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  mom, 

His  shadowy  flail  had  threshed  the  corn 
That  ten  day  laborers  could  not  end ; 

Then  lays  him  down  the  lubber-fiend, 

And  stretch’d  out  all  the  chimney’s  length, 

Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength, 

And  crop-full,  out  of  door  he  flings 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings.’ * 

But  beside  these  household  Dobbies,  there  are 
others  of  a more  gloomy  and  unsocial  nature, 
which  keep  about  lonely  barns,  at  a distance  from 
any  dwelling-house,  or  about  ruins  and  old  bridges, 
These  are  full  of  mischievous,  and  often  malig- 
nant tricks,  and  are  fond  of  playing  pranks  upon 
benighted  travellers.  There  is  a story,  among 
the  old  people,  of  one  which  haunted  a ruined 
mill,  just  by  a bridge  that  crosses  a small  stream  ; 
how  that  late  one  night,  as  a traveller  was  pass- 
ing on  horseback,  the  goblin  jumped  up  behind 
him,  and  grasped  him  so  close  round  the  body  that 
he  had  no  power  to  help  himself,  but  expected  to 
be  squeezed  to  death  ; luckily  his  heels  were  loose, 
with  which  he  plied  the  sides  of  his  steed,  and 
was  carried,  with  the  wonderful  instinct  of  a trav- 
eller’s horse,  straight  to  the  village  inn.  Had  the 
inn  been  at  any  greater  distance,  there  is  no  doubt 
but  he  would  have  been  strangled  to  death  ; as  it 
was,  the  good  people  were  a long  time  in  bring- 
ing him  to  liis  senses,  and  it  was  remarked  that 


400 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


the  first  sign  he  showed  of  returning  conscious 
ness,  was  to  call  for  a bottom  of  brandy. 

These  mischievous  Dobbies  bear  much  resem- 
blance in  their  natures  and  habits  to  the  sprites 
which  Heywood,  in  his  “ Ilierarchie,”  calls  pugs  of 
hobgoblins  : 


“ Their  dwellings  be 

In  corners  of  old  houses  least  frequented, 

Or  beneath  stacks  of  wood,  and  these  convented, 

Make  fearful  noise  in  butteries  and  in  dairies ; 

Kobin  Goodfellow  some,  some  call  them  fairies, 

In  solitarie  rooms  these  uprores  keep, 

And  beate  at  doores  to  wake  men  from  their  slepe, 
Seeming  to  force  lockes,  be  they  nere  so  strong, 

And  keeping  Christmasse  gambols  all  night  long. 

Pots,  glasses,  trenchers,  dishes,  pannes,  and  kettles 
They  will  make  dance  about  the  shelves  and  settles, 

As  if  about  the  kitchen  tost  and  cast, 

Yet  in  the  morning  nothing  found  misplac’t. 

Others  such  houses  to  their  use  have  fitted 
In  which  base  murthers  have  been  once  committed. 

Some  have  their  fearful  habitations  taken 
In  desolate  houses,  ruin’d  and  forsaken.” 

in  the  account  of  our  unfortunate  hawking  ex- 
pea »tion,  I mentioned  an  instance  of  one  of  these 
sprites  supposed  to  haunt  the  ruined  grange  that 
stands  in  a lonely  meadow,  and  has  a remarkable 
echo.  The  parson  informs  me,  also,  of  a belief 
once  very  prevalent,  that  a household  Dobbie 
kept  about  the  old  farmhouse  of  the  Tibbetses. 
It  has  long  been  traditional,  he  says,  that  one  oi 
these  good-natured  goblins  is  attached  to  the  Tib- 
bets  family,  and  came  with  them  when  thej 
moved  into  this  part  of  the  country ; for  it  is  one 
of  the  peculiarities  of  these  household  sprites, 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 


401 


that  they  attach  themselves  to  the  fortunes  of 
certain  families,  and  follow  them  in  all  their  re- 
movals. 

There  is  a large  old-fashioned  fireplace  in  the 
farmhouse,  which  affords  fine  quarters  for  a chim- 
ney-corner sprite  that  likes  to  lie  warm,  — espc  - 
cially  as  Ready-Money  Jack  keeps  up  rousing  fires 
in  the  winter  time.  The  old  people  of  the  village 
recollect  many  stories  about  this  goblin,  current 
in  their  young  days.  It  was  thought  to  have 
brought  good  luck  to  the  house,  and  to  be  the 
reason  why  the  Tibbetses  were  always  beforehand 
in  the  world ; and  why  their  farm  was  always  in 
better  order,  their  hay  got  in  sooner,  and  their 
corn  better  stacked,  than  that  of  their  neighbors. 
The  present  Mrs.  Tibbets,  at  the  time  of  her 
courtship,  had  a number  of  these  stories  told  her 
by  the  country  gossips  ; and  when  married,  was  a 
little  fearful  about  living  in  a house  where  such  a 
hobgoblin  was  said  to  haunt.  Jack,  however,  who 
has  always  treated  this  story  with  great  contempt, 
assured  her  that  there  was  no  spirit  kept  about 
his  house  that  he  could  not  at  any  time  lay  in  the 
Red  Sea  with  one  flourish  of  his  cudgel.  Still 
his  wife  has  never  got  completely  over  her  notions 
on  the  subject ; but  has  a horse-shoe  nailed  on 
the  threshold,  and  keeps  a branch  of  rauntry,  or 
mountain-ash,  with  its  red  berries,  suspended  from 
one  of  the  great  beams  in  the  parlor,  — a sure 
protection  from  all  evil  spirits. 

TliSle  stories,  as  I before  observed,  are  fast 
fading  away,  and  in  another  generation  or  two 
will  probably  be  completely  forgotten.  There  is 
26 


402 


BRA  CKBRIDGE  HALL. 


something,  however,  about  these  rural  supersti 
tions  extremely  pleasing  to  the  imagination  ; par- 
ticularly those  which  relate  to  the  good-humored 
race  of  household  demons,  and  indeed  to  the 
whole  fairy  mythology.  The  English  have  given 
an  inexpressible  charm  to  these  superstitions,  by 
the  manner  in  which  they  have  associated  them 
with  whatever  is  most  homefelt  and  delightful  in 
nature.  I do  not  know  a more  fascinating  race 
of  beings  than  these  little  fabled  people  who 
haunted  the  southern  sides  of  hills  and  mountains ; 
lurked  in  flowers  and  about  fountain-heads ; glid- 
ed through  keyholes  into  ancient  halls  ; watched 
over  farmhouses  and  dairies  ; danced  on  the  green 
by  summer  moonlight,  and  on  the  kitchen  hearth 
in  winter.  They  accord  with  the  nature  of  Eng- 
lish housekeeping  and  English  scenery.  I al- 
ways have  them  in  mind  when  I see  a fine  old 
English  mansion,  with  its  wide  hall  and  spacious 
kitchen ; or  a venerable  farmhouse,  in  which 
there  is  so  much  fireside  comfort  and  good  house- 
wifery. There  was  something  of  national  char- 
acter in  their  love  of  order  and  cleanliness  ; in  the 
vigilance  with  which  they  watched  over  the  econ* 
omy  of  the  kitchen,  and  the  functions  of  the  ser- 
vants ; munificently  rewarding,  with  silver  sixpence 
in  shoe,  the  tidy  housemaid,  but  venting  their  dire- 
ful wrath,  in  midnight  bobs  and  pinches,  upon  the 
sluttish  dairymaid.  I think  I can  trace  the  good 
effects  of  this  ancient  fairy  sway  over  household 
concerns  in  the  care  that  prevails  to  the  presen/ 
day  among  English  housemaids  to  put  theii 
kitchens  in  order  before  they  go  to  bed. 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 


403 


I have  said  that  these  fairy  superstitions  accord 
with  the  nature  of  English  scenery.  They  suit 
these  small  landscapes,  which  are  divided  by  hon- 
eysuckle hedges  into  sheltered  fields  and  mead- 
ows ; where  the  grass  is  mingled  with  daisies, 
buttercups,  and  hare-bells.  When  I first  found 
myself  among  English  scenery,  I was  continually 
reminded  of  the  sweet  pastoral  images  which  dis- 
tinguish their  fairy  mythology  ; and  when  for  the 
first  time  a circle  in  the  grass  was  pointed  out  to 
me  as  one  of  the  rings  where  they  were  formerly 
supposed  to  have  held  their  moonlight  revels,  ii 
seemed  for  a moment  as  if  fairy-land  were  no 
longer  a fable.  Brown,  in  his  “ Britannia’s  Pasto- 
rals,” gives  a picture  of  the  kind  of  scenery  to 
which  I allude  : 

“ A pleasant  mead 

Where  fairies  often  did  their  measures  tread ; 

Which  in  the  meadows  make  such  circles  green 
As  if  with  garlands  it  had  crowned  been. 

Writhin  one  of  these  rounds  was  to  be  seen 
A hillock  rise,  where  oft  the  fairy  queen 
At  twilight  sat.” 

And  there  is  another  picture  of  the  same,  in  a 
poem  ascribed  to  Ben  Jonson  : 

“ By  wells  and  rills  in  meadows  green, 

We  nightly  dance  our  hey-dey  guise, 

And  to  our  fairy  king  and  queen 

We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies.”  • 

Indeed,  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  older  British 
poets,  with  that  true  feeling  for  nature  which  dis- 
tinguishes them,  have  closely  adhered  to  the  sim- 
ple and  familiar  imagery  which  they  found  in 


404 


BRACEBRIDGE  I1ALL. 


these  popular  superstitions ; and  have  thus  given 
to  their  fairy  mythology  those  continual  allusions 
to  the  farmhouse  and  the  dairy,  the  green  meadow 
and  the  fountain-head,  which  fill  our  minds  with 
the  delightful  associations  of  rural  life.  It  is  cu- 
rious to  observe  how  the  most  beautiful  fictions 
have  their  origin  among  the  rude  and  ignorant. 
There  is  an  indescribable  charm  about  the  illusions 
with  which  chimerical  ignorance  once  clothed 
every  subject.  These  twilight  views  of  nature 
are  often  more  captivating  than  any  which  are  re- 
vealed by  the  rays  of  enlightened  philosophy.  The 
most  accomplished  and  poetical  minds,  therefore, 
have  been  fain  to  search  back  into  the  accidental 
conceptions  of  what  are  termed  barbarous  ages, 
and  to  draw  from  them  their  finest  imagery  and 
machinery.  If  we  look  through  our  most  admired 
poets,  we  shall  find  that  their  minds  have  been 
impregnated  by  these  popular  fancies,  and  that 
those  have  succeeded  l)est  who  have  adhered  clos- 
est to  the  simplicity  of  their  rustic  originals.  Such 
is  the  case  with  Shakspeare  in  his  “ Midsummer- 
Night’s  Dream,”  which  so  minutely  describes  the 
employments  and  amusements  of  fairies,  and  em- 
bodies all  the  notions  concerning  them  which 
were  current  among  the  vulgar.  It  is  thus  that 
poetry  in  England  has  echoed  back  every  rustic 
note,  softened  into  perfect  melody;  it  is  this  that 
has  spread  its  charms  over  every-day  life,  displac- 
ing nothing  ; taking  things  as  it  found  them  ; but 
tinting  them  up  with  its  own  magical  hues,  until 
every  green  hill  and  fountain-head,  every  fresh 
meadow,  nay,  every  humble  flower,  is  full  of  song 
and  story. 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 


405 


I am  dwelling  too  long,  perhaps,  upon  a thread- 
bare subject ; yet  it  brings  up  with  it  a thousand 
delicious  recollections  of  those  happy  days  of 
childhood,  when  the  imperfect  knowledge  I have 
since  obtained  had  not  yet  dawned  upon  my  mind, 
and  when  a fairy  tale  was  true  history  to  me.  I 
have  often  been  so  transported  by  the  pleasure  of 
these  recollections,  as  almost  to  wish  I had  been 
born  in  the  days  when  the  fictions  of  poetry  were 
believed.  Even  now  I cannot  look  upon  those 
fanciful  creations  of  ignorance  and  credulity,  with- 
out a lurking  regret  that  they  have  all  passed 
away.  The  experience  of  my  early  days  tells 
me,  they  were  sources  of  exquisite  delight  ; and 
I sometimes  question  whether  the  naturalist  who 
can  dissect  the  flowers  of  the  field  receives  half 
the  pleasure  from  contemplating  them  that  he 
did  who  considered  them  the  abode  of  elves  and 
fairies.  I feel  convinced  that  the  true  interests 
and  solid  happiness  of  man  are  promoted  by  the 
advancement  of  truth  ; yet  I cannot  but  mourn 
over  the  pleasant  errors  which  it  has  trampled 
down  in  its  progress.  The  fauns  and  sylphs,  the 
household  sprites,  the  moonlight  revel,  Oberon, 
Queen  Mab,  and  the  delicious  realms  of  fairy-land, 
all  vanish  before  the  light  of  true  philosophy  ; but 
who  does  not  sometimes  turn  with  distaste  from 
the  cold  realities  of  morning,  and  seek  to  recall 
the  sweet  visions  of  the  night  ? 


THE  CULPRIT. 

From  fire,  from  water,  and  all  things  amiss, 

Deliver  the  house  of  an  honest  justice. 

The  Widow. 

HE  serenity  of  the  Hall  has  been  sud- 
denly interrupted  by  a very  important 
occurrence.  In  the  course  of  this  morn- 
ing a posse  of  villagers  was  seen  trooping  up  the 
avenue,  with  boys  shouting  in  advance.  As  it 
drew  near,  we  perceived  Ready-Money  Jack  Tib- 
bets  striding  along,  wielding  his  cudgel  in  one. 
hand,  and  with  the  other  grasping  the  collar  of  a 
tall  fellow,  whom,  on  still  nearer  approach,  we 
recognized  for  the  redoubtable  gypsy  hero,  Star- 
light Tom.  He  was  now,  however,  completely 
cowed  and  crestfallen,  and  his  courage  seemed  to 
have  quailed  in  the  iron  gripe  of  the  lion-hearted 
Jack. 

The  whole  gang  of  gypsy  women  and  children 
came  draggling  in  the  rear  ; some  in  tears,  others 
making  a violent  clamor  about  the  ears  of  old 
Ready-Money,  who,  however,  trudged  on  in  silence 
with  his  prey,  heeding  their  abuse  as  little  as  a 
hawk  that  lias  pounced  upon  a barn-door  hero 
regards  the  outcries  and  cacklings  of  his  whole 
feathered  seraglio. 


THE  CULPRIT . 


407 


He  had  passed  through  the  village  on  his  way 
to  the  Hall,  and  of  course  had  made  a great  sen 
sation  in  that  most  excitable  place,  where  every 
event  is  a matter  of  gaze  and  gossip.  The  report 
flew  like  wildfire,  that  Starlight  Tom  was  in  cus- 
tody. The  ale-drinkers  forthwith  abandoned  the 
tap-room  ; Slingsby’s  school  broke  loose,  and  mas- 
ter and  boys  swelled  the  tide  that  came  rolling  at 
the  heels  of  old  Ready-Money  and  his  captive. 

The  uproar  increased  as  they  approached  the 
Hall ; it  aroused  the  whole  garrison  of  dogs,  and 
the  crew  of  hangers-on.  The  great  mastiff  barked 
from  the  dog-house  ; the  staghound  and  the  grey- 
hound, and  the  spaniel,  issued  barking  from  the 
hall-door,  and  my  Lady  Lillycraft’s  little  dogs 
ramped  and  barked  from  the  parlor-window.  I 
remarked,  however,  that  the  gypsy  dogs  made  no 
reply  to  all  these  menaces  and  insults,  but  crept 
close  to  the  gang,  looking  round  with  a guilty, 
poaching  air,  and  now  and  then  glancing  up  a 
dubious  eye  to  their  owners ; which  shows  that 
the  moral  dignity,  even  of  dogs,  may  be  ruined  by 
bad  company ! 

When  the  throng  reached  the  front  of  the  house 
they  were  brought  to  a halt  by  a kind  of  advanced 
guard,  composed  of  old  Christy,  the  gamekeeper, 
and  two  or  three  servants  of  the  house,  who  had 
been  brought  out  by  the  noise.  The  common 
herd  of  the  village  fell  back  with  respect ; the 
boys  were  driven  back  by  Christy  and  his  com- 
peers ; while  Ready-Money  Jack  maintained  his 
ground  and  his  hold  of  the  prisoner,  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  tailor,  the  schoolmaster,  and  sev- 


408 


BRA  CKBRIDG E HALL. 


eral  other  dignitaries  of  the  village,  and  by  the 
clamorous  brood  of  gypsies,  who  were  neither  to 
be  silenced  nor  intimidated. 

By  this  time  the  whole  household  were  brought 
to  the  doors  and  windows,  and  the  Squire  to  the 
portal.  An  audience  was  demanded  by  Ready - 
Money  Jack,  who  had  detected  the  prisoner  in  the 
very  act  of  sheep-stealing  on  his  domains,  and  had 
borne  him  off  to  be  examined  before  the  Squire, 
who  was  in  the  commission  of  the  peace. 

A kind  of  tribunal  was  immediately  held  in  the 
servants’  hall,  a large  chamber,  with  a stone  floor, 
and  a long  table  in  the  centre,  at  one  end  of 
which,  just  under  an  enormous  clock,  was  placed 
the  Squire’s  chair  of  justice,  while  Master  Simon 
took  his  place  at  the  table  as  clerk  of  the  court. 
An  attempt  had  been  made  by  old  Christy  to  keep 
out  the  gypsy  gang,  but  in  vain,  and  they,  with 
the  village  worthies,  and  the  household,  half  filled 
the  hall.  The  old  housekeeper  and  the  butler 
were  in  a panic  at  this  dangerous  irruption.  They 
hurried  away  all  the  valuable  things  and  portable 
articles  that  were  at  hand,  and  even  kept  a dragon 
watch  on  the  gypsies,  lest  they  should  carry  off 
the  house-clock,  or  the  deal  table. 

Old  Christy,  and  his  faithful  coadjutor  the  game- 
keeper,  acted  as  constables  to  guard  the  prisoner, 
triumphing  in  having  at  last  got  this  terrible  of- 
fender in  their  clutches.  Indeed,  I am  inclined 
to  think  the  old  man  bore  some  peevish  recollec- 
tion of  having  been  handled  rather  roughly  by 
the  gypsy  in  the  chance  - medley  affair  of  May 
day. 


THE  CULPRIT. 


409 


Silence  was  now  commanded  by  Master  Simon  * 
but  it  was  difficult  to  be  enforced  in  such  a mot- 
ley assemblage.  There  was  a continual  snarling 
and  yelping  of  dogs,  and,  as  fast  as  it  was  quelled 
in  one  corner,  it  broke  out  in  another.  The 
poor  gypsy  curs,  who,  like  errant  thieves,  could 
not  hold  up  their  heads  in  an  honest  house,  were 
worried  and  insulted  by  the  gentlemen  dogs  of 
the  establishment,  without  offering  to  make  resist- 
ance ; the  very  curs  of  my  Lady  Lilly  craft  bullied 
them  with  impunity. 

The  examination  was  conducted  with  great 
mildness  and  indulgence  by  the  Squire,  partly 
from  the  kindness  of  his  nature,  and  partly,  I sus- 
pect, because  his  heart  yearned  towards  the  cul- 
prit, who  had  found  great  favor  in  his  eyes,  as  I 
have  already  observed,  from  the  skill  he  had  at 
various  times  displayed  in  'archery,  morris-dancing, 
and  other  obsolete  accomplishments.  Proofs,  how- 
ever, were  too  strong.  Peady-Money  Jack  told 
his  story  in  a straightforward  independent  way, 
nothing  daunted  by  the  presence  in  which  he 
found  himself.  He  had  suffered  from  various  dep- 
redations on  his  sheepfold  and  poultry-yard,  and 
had  at  length  kept  watch,  and  caught  the  delin- 
quent in  the  very  act  of  making  off  with  a sheep 
on  his  shoulders. 

Tibbets  was  repeatedly  interrupted,  in  the  course 
of  his  testimony,  by  the  culprit’s  mother,  a furious 
old  beldame,  with  an  insufferable  tongue,  and  who, 
in  fact,  was  several  times  kept,  with  some  diffi- 
culty, from  flying  at  him  tooth  and  nail.  The 
wife,  too,  of  the  prisoner,  whom  I am  told  he  does 


410 


BRA CEBRIDGE  HALL . 


not  beat  above  half  a dozen  times  a week,  com 
pletely  interested  Lady  Lillycraft  in  her  husband's 
behalf,  by  her  tears  and  supplications ; and  sev- 
eral of  the  other  gypsy  women  were  awakening 
strong  sympathy  among  the  young  girls  and  maid- 
servants in  the  background.  The  pretty  black  - 
eyed  gypsy  girl,  whom  I have  mentioned  on  a 
former  occasion  as  the  sibyl  that  read  the  fortunes 
of  the  general,  endeavored  to  wheedle  that  doughty 
warrior  into  their  interests,  and  even  made  some 
approaches  to  her  old  acquaintance,  Master  Simon ; 
but  was  repelled  by  the  latter  with  all  the  dig- 
nity of  office,  having  assumed  a look  of  gravity 
and  importance  suitable  to  the  occasion. 

I was  a little  surprised,  at  first,  to  find  honest 
Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster,  rather  opposed  to  his 
old  crony  Tibbets,  and  coining  forward  as  a kind 
of  advocate  for  the  accused.  It  seems  that  he 
had  taken  compassion  on  the  forlorn  fortunes  of 
Starlight  Tom,  and  had  been  trying  his  eloquence 
in  his  favor  the  whole  way  from  the  village,  but 
without  effect.  During  the  examination  of  Ready- 
Money  Jack,  Slingsby  had  stood  like  “ dejected 
pity  at  his  side,”  seeking  every  now  and  then,  by 
a soft  word,  to  soothe  any  exacerbation  of  his  ire, 
or  to  qualify  any  harsh  expression.  He  now  ven- 
tured to  make  a few  observations  to  the  Squire 
in  palliation  of  the  delinquent’s  offence  ; but  poor 
Slingsby  spoke  more  from  the  heart  than  the  head, 
and  was  evidently  actuated  merely  by  a general 
sympathy  for  every  poor  devil  in  trouble,  and  a 
liberal  toleration  for  all  kinds  of  vagabond  ex- 
istence. 


THE  CULPRIT. 


411 


The  ladies,  too,  large  and  small,  with  the  kind- 
heartedness  of  the  sex,  were  zealous  on  the  side 
of  mercy,  and  interceded  strenuously  with  the 
Squire  ; insomuch  that  the  prisoner,  finding  him- 
self unexpectedly  surrounded  by  active  friends, 
once  more  reared  his  crest,  and  seemed  disposed 
for  a time  to  put  on  the  air  of  injured  innocence. 
The  Squire,  however,  with  all  his  benevolence 
of  heart,  and  his  lurking  weakness  towards  the 
prisoner,  was  too  conscientious  to  swerve  from  the 
strict  path  of  justice.  Abundant  concurring  tes- 
timony made  the  proof  of  guilt  incontrovertible, 
and  Starlight  Tom’s  mittimus  was  made  out  ac- 
cordingly. 

The  sympathy  of  the  ladies  was  now  greatei 
than  ever ; they  even  made  some  attempts  to 
mollify  the  ire  of  Ready-Money  Jack ; but  that 
sturdy  potentate  had  been  too  much  incensed  by 
the  repeated  incursions  into  his  territories  by  the 
predatory  band  of  Starlight  Tom,  and  he  was  re- 
solved, he  said,  to  drive  the  “ varment  reptiles  ” 
out  of  the  neighborhood.  To  avoid  all  further 
importunities,  as  soon  as  the  mittimus  was  made 
out,  he  girded  up  his  loins,  and  strode  back  to  his 
seat  of  empire,  accompanied  by  his  interceding 
friend,  Slings  by,  and  followed  by  a detachment 
of  the  gypsy  gang,  who  hung  on  his  rear,  assail- 
ing him  with  mingled  prayers  and  execrations. 

The  question  now  was,  how  to  dispose  of  the 
prisoner ; a matter  of  great  moment  in  this  peace- 
ful establishment,  where  so  formidable  a charac- 
ter as  Starlight  Tom  was  like  a hawk  entrapped 
in  a dove-cote.  As  the  hubbub  and  exainina- 


412 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


tion  had  occupied  a considerable  time,  it  was  too 
late  in  the  day  to  send  him  to  the  county  prison, 
and  that  of  the  village  was  sadly  out  of  repair, 
from  long  want  of  occupation.  Old  Christy,  who 
took  great  interest  in  the  affair,  proposed  that 
the  culprit  should  be  committed  for  the  night  to 
an  upper  loft  of  a kind  of  tower  in  one  of  the 
out-houses,  where  he  and  the  gamekeeper  would 
mount  guard.  After  much  deliberation,  this  meas- 
ure was  adopted;  the  premises  in  question  were 
examined  and  made  secure,  and  Christy  and  his 
trusty  ally,  the  one  armed  with  a fowling-piece, 
the  other  with  an  ancient  blunderbuss,  turned  out 
as  sentries  to  keep  watch  over  this  donjon-keep. 

Such  is  the  momentous  affair  that  has  just 
taken  place,  and  it  is  an  event  of  too  great  mo- 
ment in  this  quiet  little  world  not  to  turn  it  com- 
pletely topsy-turvy.  Labor  is  at  a stand.  The 
house  has  been  a scene  of  confusion  the  whole 
evening.  It  has  been  beleaguered  by  gypsy  wom- 
en, with  their  children  on  their  backs,  wailing 
and  lamenting ; while  the  old  virago  of  a mother 
has  cruised  up  and  down  the  lawn  in  front,  shak- 
ing her  head  and  muttering  to  herself,  or  now  and 
then  breaking  into  a paroxysm  of  rage,  brandish- 
ing her  fist  at  the  Hall,  and  denouncing  ill  luck 
upon  Ready-Money  Jack,  and  even  upon  the 
Squire  himself. 

Lady  Lillycraft  has  given  repeated  audiences 
to  the  culprit’s  weeping  wife,  at  the  Hall-door ; 
and  the  servant-maids  have  stolen  out  to  confer 
with  the  gypsy  women  under  the  trees.  As  to 
the  little  ladies  of  the  family,  they  are  all  out* 


THE  CULPRIT . 


413 


rageous  at  Ready-Money  Jack,  whom  they  look 
upon  in  the  light  of*  a tyrannical  giant  of  fairy  tale. 
Phoebe  Wilkins,  contrary  to  her  usual  nature,  is 
the  only  one  pitiless  in  the  affair.  She  thinks 
Mr.  Tibbets  quite  in  the  right ; and  thinks  the 
gypsies  deserve  to  be  punished  severely  for  med- 
dling with  the  sheep  of  the  Tibbetses. 

In  the  mean  time  the  females  of  the  family 
evinced  all  the  provident  kindness  of  the  sex,  ever 
ready  to  soothe  and  succor  the  distressed,  right  or 
wrong.  Lady  Lillycraft  has  had  a mattress  taken 
to  the  out-house,  and  comforts  and  delicacies  of  all 
kinds  have  been  taken  to  the  prisoner ; even  the 
little  girls  have  sent  their  cakes  and  sweetmeats  ; 
so  that,  I ’ll  warrant,  the  vagabond  has  never  fared 
so  well  in  his  life  before.  Old  Christy,  it  is  true, 
looks  upon  everything  with  a wary  eye  ; struts 
about  with  his  blunderbuss  with  the  air  of  a vet- 
eran campaigner,  and  will  hardly  allow  himself  to 
be  spoken  to.  The  gypsy  women  dare  not  come 
within  gunshot,  and  every  tatterdemalion  of  a boy 
has  been  frightened  from  the  park.  The  old  fel- 
low is  determined  to  lodge  Starlight  Tom  in 
prison  with  his  own  hajids ; and  hopes,  he  gays, 
to  see  one  of  the  poaching  crew  made  an  ex- 
ample of. 

I doubt,  after  all,  whether  the  worthy  Squire  is 
not  the  greatest  sufferer  in  the  whole  affair.  His 
honorable  sense  of  duty  obliges  him  to  be  rigid, 
but  the  overflowing  kindness  of  his  nature  makes 
this  a grievous  trial  to  him. 

He  is  not  accustomed  to  have  such  demands 
upon  his  justice  in  his  truly  patriarchal  domain ; 


414 


BRACEBRIDGE  JIALL. 


and  it  wounds  his  benevolent  spirit,  that,  while 
prosperity  and  happiness  are  flowing  in  thus  boun- 
teously upon  him,  he  should  have  to  inflict  mis- 
ery upon  a fellow-being. 

He  has  been  troubled  and  cast  down  the  whole 
evening ; took  leave  of  the  family,  on  going  to 
bed,  with  a sigh,  instead  of  his  usual  hearty  and 
affectionate  tone  ; and  will,  in  all  probability,  have 
a far  more  sleepless  night  than  his  prisoner.  In- 
deed, this  unlucky  affair  has  cast  a damp  upon 
the  whole  household,  as  there  appears  to  be  a 
universal  opinion  that  the  unlucky  culprit  will 
come  to  the  gallows. 

Morning.  — The  clouds  of  last  evening  are  all 
blown  over.  A load  has  been  taken  from  the 
Squire’s  heart,  and  every  face  is  once  more  in 
smiles.  The  gamekeeper  made  his  appearance  at 
an  early  hour,  completely  shamefaced  and  crest- 
fallen. Starlight  Tom  had  made  his  escape  in 
the  night ; how  he  had  got  out  of  the  loft,  no  one 
could  tell : the  Devil,  they  think,  must  have  as- 
sisted him.  Old  Christy  was  so  mortified  that 
he  would  not  show  his  face,  but  had  shut  himself 
up  in  his  stronghold  at  the  dog-kennel,  and  would 
not  be  spoken  with.  What  has  particularly  re- 
lieved the  Squire  is,  that  there  is  very  little  like 
lihood  of  the  culprit’s  being  retaken,  having  gone 
off  on  one  of  the  old  gentleman’s  best  hunters 


FAMILY  MISFORTUNES. 

The  night  has  been  unruly  : where  we  lay, 
The  chimneys  were  blown  down. 

Macbeth 


E have  for  a day  or  two  past  had  a haw 
of  unruly  weather,  which  has  intruded 
itself  into  this  fair  and  flowery  month, 
and  for  a time  quite  itiarred  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape.  Last  night  the  storm  attained  its  cri- 
sis ; the  rain  beat  in  torrents  against  the  case- 
ments, and  the  wind  piped  and  blustered  about 
the  old  Hall  with  quite  a wintry  vehemence.  The 
morning,  however,  dawned  clear  and  serene ; the 
face  of  the  heavens  seemed  as  if  newly  washed, 
and  the  sun  shone  wifh  a brightness  undimmed 
by  a single  vapor.  Nothing  overhead  gave  traces 
of  the  recent  storm ; but  on  looking  from  my 
window  I beheld  sad  ravage  among  the  shrubs 
and  flowers ; the  garden-walks  had  formed  the 
channels  for  little  torrents  ; trees  were  lopped  of 
their  branches,  and  a small  silver  stream  which 
wound  through  the  park,  and  ran  at  the  bottom 
of  the  lawn,  had  swelled  into  a turbid,  yellow 
sheet  of  water. 

In  an  establishment  like  this,  where  the  man-  * 
sion  is  vast,  ancient,  and  somewhat  afflicted  with 


416 


BRA  CEBRTDGE  HALL. 


the  infirmities  of  age,  and  where  there  are  nu- 
merous and  extensive  dependencies,  a storm  is  an 
event  of  a very  grave  nature,  and  brings  in  its 
train  a multiplicity  of  cares  and  disasters. 

While  the  Squire  was  taking  his  breakfast  in 
the  great  hall,  he  was  continually  interrupted  by 
bearers  of  ill  tidings  from  some  part  or  other  of 
his  domains ; he  appeared  to  me  like  the  com- 
mander of  a besieged  city,  after  some  grand  as- 
sault, receiving  at  his  headquarters  reports  of 
damages  sustained  in  the  various  quarters  of  the 
place.  At  one  time  the  housekeeper  brought  him 
intelligence  of  a chimney  blown  down,  and  a des- 
perate leak  sprung  in  the  roof  over  the  picture- 
gallery,  which  threatened  to  obliterate  a whole 
generation  of  his  ancestors.  Then  the  steward 
came  in  with  a doleful  story  of  the  mischief  done 
in  the  woodlands  ; while  the  gamekeeper  be- 
moaned the  loss  of  one  of  his  finest  bucks,  whose 
bloated  carcass  was  seen  floating  along  the  swol- 
len current  of  the  river. 

When  the  Squire  issued  forth,  he  was  accosted, 
before  the  door,  by  the  old,  paralytic  gardener, 
with  a face  full  of  trouble,  reporting,  as  I sup- 
posed, the  devastation  of  his  flower-beds,  and  the 
destruction  of  his  wall-fruit.  I remarked,  how- 
ever, that  his  intelligence  caused  a peculiar  ex- 
pression of  concern  not  only  with  the  Squire  and 
Master  Simon,  but  with  the  fair  Julia  and  Lady 
Lillycraft,  who  happened  to  be  present.  From  a 
few  words  which  reached  my  ear,  I found  there 
was  some  tale  of  domestic  calamity  in  the  case, 
and  that  some  unfortunate  family  had  been  ren- 


FAM1L  Y JITS  FOR  TUNES.  417 

dered  houseless  by  the  storm.  Many  ejaculations 
of  pity  broke  from  the  ladies;  I heard  the  ex- 
pressions of  u poor  helpless  beings,”  and  u unfortu 
nate  little  creatures,”  several  times  repeated  ; t<j 
which  the  old  gardener  replied  by  very  melarn 
choly  shakes  of  the  head. 

I felt  so  interested,  that  I could  not  help  call- 
ing to  the  gardener,  as  he  was  retiring,  and  ask- 
ing what  unfortunate  family  it  was  that  had  suf- 
fered so  severely.  The  old  man  touched  his  hat, 
and  gazed  at  me  for  an  instant,  as  if  hardly  com- 
prehending my  question.  “ F amily ! ” replied  he 
u there  be  no  family  in  the  case,  your  honor  ; but 
nere  have  been  sad  mischief  done  in  the  rook- 
ery ! ” 

I had  noticed  the  day  before  that  the  high  and 
gusty  winds  had  occasioned  great  disquiet  among 
these  airy  householders ; their  nests  being  all 
filled  with  young,  who  were  in  danger  of  being 
tilted  out  of  their  tree-rocked  cradles.  Indeed, 
the  old  birds  themselves  seemed  to  have  hard 
work  to  maintain  a foothold  ; some  kept  hovering 
and  cawing  in  the  air ; or  if  they  ventured  to 
alight,  had  to  hold  fast,  flap  their  wings,  and 
spread  their  tails,  and  thus  remain  see-sawing  on 
the  topmost  twigs. 

In  the  course  of  the  night,  however,  an  awful 
calamity  had  taken  place  in  this  most  sage  and 
politic  community.  There  was  a great  tree,  the 
tallest  in  the  grove,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
the  kind  of  court -end  of  the  metropolis,  and 
crowded  with  the  residences  of  those  whom  Mas- 
ter Simon  considers  the  nobility  and  gentry.  A 
_ 27 


418 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL . 


decayed  limb  of  this  tree  had  given  way  with 
the  violence  of  the  storm,  and  came  down  with 
all  its  air-castles. 

One  should  be  well  aware  of  the  humors  of  the 
good  Squire  and  his  household,  to  understand  the 
general  concern  expressed  at  this  disaster.  Jt 
was  quite  a public  calamity  in  this  rural  empire, 
and  all  seemed  to  feel  for  the  poor  rooks  as  for 
fellow-citizens  in  distress. 

The  ground  had  been  strewed  with  the  callow 
young,  which  were  now  cherished  in  the  aprons 
and  bosoms  of  the  maid-servants,  and  the  little 
ladies  of  the  family.  I was  pleased  with  this 
touch  of  nature,  this  feminine  sympathy  in  the 
sufferings  of  the  offspring,  and  the  maternal  anxi- 
ety of  the  parent  birds. 

It  was  interesting,  too,  to  witness  the  general 
agitation  and  distress  prevalent  throughout  the 
feathered  community ; the  common  cause  that  was 
made  of  it ; and  the  incessant  hovering,  and  flut- 
tering, and  lamenting,  in  the  whole  rookery. 
There  is  a chord  of  sympathy  that  runs  through 
the  whole  feathered  race  as  to  any  misfortunes  of 
the  young ; and  the  cries  of  a wounded  bird  in 
the  breeding  season  will  throw  a whole  grove  in 
a flutter  and  an  alarm.  Indeed,  why  should  I 
confine  it  to  the  feathered  tribe  ? Nature  has  im- 
planted an  exquisite  sympathy  on  this  subject, 
which  extends  through  all  her  works.  It  is  an 
invariable  attribute  of  the  female  heart  to  melt 
at  the  cry  of  early  helplessness,  and  to  take  an 
instinctive  interest  in  the  distresses  of  the  parent 
and  its  young.  On  the  present  occasion  the  la 


FAMILY  MISFORTUNES. 


419 


dies  of  the  family  were  full  of  pity  and  commis 
eration ; and  I shall  never  forget  the  look  that 
Lady  Lillycraft  gave  the  general,  on  his  observ- 
ing that  the  young  birds  would  make  an  excel 
lent  curry,  or  an  especial  good  rook-pie. 


LOVERS’  TROUBLES. 

The  poor  soul  sat  singing  by  a sycamore  tree, 

Sing  all  a green  willow ; 

Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee, 
Sing  willow,  willow,  willow: 

Sing  all  a green  willow  must  be  my  garland. 

Old  Song 


HE  fair  Julia  having  nearly  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  her  hawking  disaster, 
it  begins  to  be  thought  high  time  to  ap- 
point a day  for  the  wedding.  As  every  domestic 
event  in  a venerable  and  aristocratic  family  con- 
nection like  this  is  a matter  of  moment,  the  fixing 
upon  this  important  day  has,  of  course,  given  rise 
to  much  conference  and  debate. 

Some  slight  difficulties  and  demurs  have  lately 
sprung  up,  originating  in  the  peculiar  humors  prev- 
alent at  the  Hall.  Thus,  I have  overheard  a 
very  solemn  consultation  between  Lady  Lilly  craft, 
the  parson,  and  Master  Simon,  as  to  whether  the 
marriage  ought  not  to  be  postponed  until  the 
coming  month. 

With  all  the  charms  of  the  flowery  month  of 
May,  there  is,  I find,  an  ancient  prejudice  against 
it  as  a marrying  month.  An  old  proverb  says, 
“ To  wed  in  May  is  to  wed  poverty.”  Now,  as 
Lady  Lillycraft  is  very  much  given  to  believe  in 


L 0 VERS  TR  0 UB.LES.  421 

lucky  and  unlucky  times  and  seasons,  and  indeed 
is  very  superstitious  on  all  points  relating  to  the 
tender  passion,  this  old  proverb  has  taken  great 
hold  upon  her  mind.  She  recollects  two  or  three 
instances  in  her  own  knowledge  of  matches  that 
took  place  in  this  month,  and  proved  very  unfor- 
tunate. Indeed,  an  own  cousin  of  hers,  who 
married  on  a May-day,  lost  her  husband  by  a fall 
from  his  horse,  after  they  had  lived  happily  to- 
gether for  twenty  years. 

The  parson  appeared  to  give  great  weight  to 
her  ladyship’s  objections,  and  acknowledged  the 
existence  of  a prejudice  of  the  kind,  not  merely 
confined  to  modern  times,  but  prevalent  likewise 
among  the  ancients.  In  confirmation  of  this  he 
quoted  a passage  from  Ovid,  which  had  a great 
effect  on  Lady  Lillycraft,  being  given  in  a lan- 
guage which  she  did  not  understand.  Even  Mas- 
ter Simon  was  staggered  by  it;  for  he  listened 
with  a puzzled  air ; and  then,  shaking  his  head, 
sagaciously  observed,  that  Ovid  was  certainly  a 
very  wise  man. 

From  this  sage  conference  I likewise  gathered 
several  other  important  pieces  of  information  rel- 
ative to  weddings  ; such  as  that,  if  two  w^-re  cele- 
brated in  the  same  church,  on  the  same  day,  the 
first  would  be  happy,  the  second  unfortunate. 
If,  on  going  to  church,  the  bridal  party  should 
meet  the  funeral  of  a female,  it  was  an  om*m  that 
the  bride  would  die  first ; if  of  a male,  the  bride- 
groom. If  the  newly-  married  couple  were  to 
lance  together  on  their  wedding-day,  the  wife 
would  thenceforth  rule  the  roast ; with  many  other 


422 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL 


curious  and  unquestionable  facts  of  the  same  na- 
ture : all  which  made  me  ponder  more  than  ever 
upon  the  perils  which  surround  this  happy  state, 
and  the  thoughtless  ignorance  of  mortals  as  to  the 
awful  risk  they  run  in  venturing  upon  it.  I ab- 
stain, however,  from  enlarging  upon  this  topic, 
having  no  inclination  to  promote  the  increase  of 
bachelors. 

Notwithstanding  the  due  weight  which  the 
Squire  gives  to  traditional  saws  and  ancient  opin- 
ions, I am  happy  to  find  that  he  makes  a firm 
stand  for  the  credit  of  this  loving  month,  and 
brings  to  his  aid  a whole  legion  of  poetical  au- 
thorities ; all  which,  I presume,  have,  been  conclu- 
sive with  the  young  couple,  as  I understand  they 
are  perfectly  willing  to  marry  in  May,  and  abide 
the  consequences.  In  a few  days,  therefore,  the 
wedding  is  to  take  place,  and  the  Hall  is  in  a buzz 
of  anticipation.  The  housekeeper  is  bustling  about 
from  morning  till  night,  with  a look  full  of  busi- 
ness and  importance,  having  a thousand  arrange- 
ments to  make,  the  Squire  intending  to  keep  open 
house  on  the  occasion;  and  as  to  the  housemaids, 
you  cannot  look  one  of  them  in  the  face,  but  the 
rogue  begins  to  color  up  and  simper. 

While,  however,  this  leading  love  - affair  is 
going  on  with  a tranquillity  quite  inconsistent 
with  the  rules  of  romance,  I cannot  say  that  the 
underplots  are  equally  propitious.  The  “opening 
bud  of  love  ” between  the  general  and  Lady 
Lillycraft  seems  to  have  experienced  some  blight 
in  the  course  of  this  genial  season.  I do  not 
think  the  general  has  ever  been  able  to  retrieve 


L OVERS'  TROUBLES. 


423 


the  ground  he  lost,  when  he  fell  asleep  during  the 
captain’s  story.  Indeed,  Master  Simon  thinks 
his  case  is  completely  desperate,  her  ladyship  hav- 
ing determined  that  he  is  quite  destitute  of  sen- 
timent. 

The  season  has  been  equally  unpropitious  to 
the  lovelorn  Phoebe  Wilkins.  I fear  the  reader 
will  be  impatient  at  having  this  humble  amour 
so  often  alluded  to  ; but  I confess  I am  apt  to 
take  a great  interest  in  the  love- troubles  of  sim- 
ple girls  of  this  class.  Few  people  have  an  idea 
of  the  world  of  care  and  perplexity  these  poor 
damsels  have  in  managing  the  affairs  of  the  heart. 

We  talk  and  write  about  the  tender  passion  ; 
we  give  it  all  the  colorings  of  sentiment  and  ro- 
mance, and  lay  the  scene  of  its  influence  in  high 
life  ; but,  after  all,  I doubt  whether  its  sway  is 
not  more  absolute  among  females  of  an  humbler 
sphere.  How  often,  could  we  but  look  into  the 
heart,  should  we  find  the  sentiment  throbbing  in 
all  its  violence,  in  the  bosom  of  the  poor  lady’s- 
maid,  rather  than  in  that  of  the  brilliant  beauty 
she  is  decking  out  for  conquest ; whose  brain  is 
probably  bewildered  with  beaux,  ball-rooms,  and 
wax-light  chandeliers. 

With  these  humble  beings  love  is  an  honest, 
engrossing  concern.  They  have  no  ideas  of  set- 
tlements, establishments,  equipages,  and  pin-money. 
The  heart  — the  heart  is  all-in-all  with  them,  poor 
things  ! There  is  seldom  one  of  them  but  has 
her  love-cares,  and  love-secrets ; her  doubts,  and 
hopes,  and  fears,  are  equal  to  those  of  any  hero- 
ine of  romance,  and  ten  times  as  sincere.  And 


424 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


then,  too,  there  is  her  secret  hoard  of  love-doeu 
ments  ; — the  broken  sixpence,  the  gilded  brooch 
the  lock  of  hair,  the  unintelligible  love-scrawl, 
all  treasured  up  in  her  box  of  Sunday  finery,  for 
private  contemplation. 

How  many  crosses  and  trials  is  she  exposed  to 
bom  some  lynx-eyed  dame,  or  staid  old  vestal 
of  a mistress,  who  keeps  a dragon  watch  over 
her  virtue,  and  scouts  the  lover  from  the  door. 
But  then,  how  sweet  are  the  little  love-scenes, 
snatched  at  distant  intervals  of  holiday,  and 
fondly  dwelt  on  through  many  a long  day  of 
household  labor  and  confinement ! If  in  the 
country  — it  is  the  dance  at  the  fair  or  wake,  the 
interview  in  the  church-yard  after  service,  or  the 
evening  stroll  in  the  green  lane.  If  in  town,  it 
is  perhaps  merely  a stolen  moment  of  delicious 
talk  between  the  bars  of  the  area,  fearful  every 
instant  of  being  seen  ; and  then,  how  lightly  will 
the  simple  creature  carol  all  day  afterwards  at 
her  labor  ! 

Poor  baggage ! after  all  her  crosses  and  diffi 
culties,  when  she  marries,  what  is  it  but  to  ex 
change  a life  of  comparative  ease  and  comfort 
for  one  of  toil  and  uncertainty?  Perhaps,  too, 
the  lover  for  whom  in  the  fondness  of  her  nature 
she  has  committed  herself  to  fortune’s  freaks,  turns 
out  a worthless  churl,  the  dissolute,  hard-hearted 
husband  of  low  life  ; who,  taking  to  the  ale-house, 
leaves  her  to  a cheerless  home,  to  labor,  penury 
and  childbearing. 

When  I see  poor  Phoebe  going  about  with 
drooping  eye,  and  her  head  hanging  all  o’  one 


LOVERS'  TROUBLES. 


425 


side,”  I cannot  help  calling  to  mind  the  pathetic 
little  picture  drawn  by  Desdemona  : — 

“ My  mother  had  a maid  called  Barbara; 

She  was  in  love;  and  he  she  loved  proved  mad, 

And  did  forsake  her ; she  had  a song  of  willow, 

An  old  thing  ’twas;  but  it  express’d  her  fortune, 

And  she  died  singing  it.” 

I hope,  however,  that  a better  lot  is  in  reserve 
for  Phoebe  Wilkins,  and  that  she  may  yet  “ rule 
the  roast  ” in  the  ancient  empire  of  the  Tibbetses  1 
She  is  not  fit  to  battle  with  hard  hearts  or  hard 
times.  She  was,  I am  told,  the  pet  of  her  poor 
mother,  who  was  proud  of  the  beauty  of  her  child, 
and  brought  her  up  more  tenderly  than  a village 
girl  ought  to  be  ; and  ever  since  she  has  been  left 
an  orphan,  the  good  ladies  of  the  Hall  have  com- 
pleted the  softening  and  spoiling  of  her. 

I have  recently  observed  her  holding  long  con- 
ferences in  the  church-yard,  and  up  and  down  one 
of  the  lanes  near  the  village,  with  Slingsby  the 
schoolmaster.  I at  first  thought  the  pedagogue 
might  be  touched  with  the  tender  malady  so  prev- 
alent in  these  parts  of  late  ; but  I did  him  in- 
justice. Honest  Slingsby,  it  seems,  was  a friend 
and  crony  of  her  late  father,  the  parish  clerk  ; 
and  is  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Tibbets  family : 
prompted,  therefore,  by  his  good-will  towards  all 
parties,  and  secretly  instigated,  perhaps,  by  the 
managing  dame  Tibbets,  he  has  undertaken  to 
talk  with  Phoebe  upon  the  subject.  He  gives 
her,  however,  but  little  encouragement.  Slingsby 
has  a formidable  opinion  of  the  aristocratical  feel- 
ing of  old  Ready-Money  and  thinks,  if  Phoebe 


426 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALE 


were  even  to  make  the  matter  up  with  the  son, 
she  would  find  the  father  totally  hostile  to  the 
match.  The  poor  damsel,  therefore,  is  reduced 
almost  to  despair ; and  Slingsby,  who  is  too  good- 
natured  not  to  sympathize  in  her  distress,  has 
advised  her  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  young  Jack, 
and  has  proposed  as  a substitute  his  learned 
coadjutor,  the  prodigal  son.  He  has  even,  in 
the  fulness  of  his  heart,  offered  to  give  up  the 
school-house  to  them  ; though  it  would  leave  him 
once  more  adrift  in  the  wide  world. 


THE  HISTORIAN. 

Hermione.  Pray  you  sit  by  us, 

And  tell ’s  a tale. 

Mamilius.  Merry  or  sad  shall ’t  be  ? 

Hermione.  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mamilius.  A sad  tale ’s  best  for  winter. 

I have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Hermione.  Let ’s  have  that,  sir. 

Winter’s  Talk 


S this  is  a story-telling  age,  I have  been 
tempted  occasionally  to  give  the  reader 
one  of  the  many  tales  served  up  with 
supper  at  the  Hall.  1 might,  indeed,  have  fur- 
nished a series  almost  equal  in  number  to  the 
“Arabian  Nights but  some  were  rather  hackneyed 
and  tedious ; others  I did  not  feel  warranted  in 
betraying  into  print ; and  many  more  were  of  the 
old  general’s  relating,  and  turned  principally  upon 
tiger-hunting,  elephant-riding,  and  Seringapatam, 
enlivened  by  the  wonderful  deeds  of  Tippoo  Sail), 
and  the  excellent  jokes  of  Major  Pendergast*. 

I had  all  along  maintained  a quiet  post  at  a 
corner  of  the  table,  where  I had  been  able  to  in- 
dulge my  humor  undisturbed  ; listening  atten- 
tively when  the  story  was  very  good,  and  dozing 
a little  when  it  was  rather  dull,  which  I consider 
the  perfection  of  auditorship. 


428 


BRACEBR1DGE  II ALL. 


I was  roused  the  other  evening  from  a slight 
trance,  into  which  I had  fallen  during  one  of  the 
general’s  histories,  by  a sudden  call  from  the 
Squire  to  furnish  some  entertainment  of  the  kind 
in  my  turn.  Having  been  so  profound  a listener 
to  others,  I could  not  in  conscience  refuse  •;  but 
neither  my  memory  nor  invention  being  ready  to 
answer  so  unexpected  a demand,  I begged  leave 
to  read  a manuscript  tale  from  the  pen  of  my  fel- 
low-countryman, the  late  Mr.  Diedrich  Knicker- 
bocker, the  historian  of  New  York.  As  this 
ancient  chronicler  may  not  be  better  known  to  my 
readers  than  he  was  to  the  company  at  the  Hall, 
a word  or  two  concerning  him  may  not  be  amiss, 
before  proceeding  to  his  manuscript. 

Diedrich  Knickerbocker  was  a native  of  New 
York,  a descendant  from  one  of  the  ancient  Dutch 
families  which  originally  settled  that  province, 
and  remained  there  after  it  was  taken  possession 
of  by  the  English  in  1664.  The  descendants  of 
these  Dutch  families  still  remain  in  villages  and 
neighborhoods  in  various  parts  of  the  country,  re- 
taining, with  singular  obstinacy,  the  dresses,  man- 
ners, and  even  language  of  their  ancestors,  and 
forming  a very  distinct  and  curious  feature  in  the 
motley  population  of  the  State.  In  a hamlet . 
whose  spire  may  be  seen  from  New  York,  rising 
from  above  the  brow  of  a hill  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  Hudson,  many  of  the  old  folks,  even  at  the 
present  day,  speak  English  with  an  accent,  and 
the  Dominie  preaches  in  Dutch ; and  so  completely 
is  the  hereditary  love  of  quiet  and  silence  main- 
tained, that  in  one  of  these  drowsy  villages,  m the 


THE  HISTORIAN . 


429 


middle  of  a warm  summer’s  day,  the  buzzing  of 
a stout  blue-bottle  fly  will  resound  from  one  end 
of  the  place  to  the  other. 

With  the  laudable  hereditary  feeling  thus  kep» 
up  among  these  worthy  people,  did  Mr.  Knicker- 
bocker undertake  to  write  a history  of  his  native 
city,  comprising  the  reign  of  its  three  Dutch  gov- 
ernors during  the  time  that  it  was  yet  under  the 
domination  of  the  Hogenmogens  of  Holland.  In 
the  execution  of  this  design  the  little  Dutchman 
has  displayed  great  historical  research,  and  a won- 
derful consciousness  of  the  dignity  of  his  subject. 
His  work,  however,  has  been  so  little  understood 
as  to  be  pronounced  a mere  work  of  humor,  sat- 
irizing the  follies  of  the  times,  both  in  politics  and 
morals,  and  giving  whimsical  views  of  human  na- 
ture. 

Be  this  as  it  may : — among  the  papers  left  be- 
hind him  were  several  tales  of  a lighter  nature, 
apparently  thrown  together  fiom  materials  gath- 
ered during  his  profound  researches  for  his  history, 
and  which  he  seems  to  have  cast  by  with  neglect, 
as  unworthy  of  publication.  Some  of  these  have 
fallen  into  my  hands  by  an  accident  which  it  is 
needless  at  present  to  mention ; and  one  of  these 
very  stories,  with  its  prelude  in  the  words  of  Mr. 
Knickerbocker,  I undertook  to  read,  by  way  of 
acquitting  myself  of  the  debt  which  I owed  to  the 
other  story-tellers  at  the  Hall.  I subjoin  it  for 
Buck  of  my  readers  as  are  fond  of  stories. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

FROM  THE  MSS.  OF  THE  LATE  DIEDRICH  KNICKER- 
BOCKER. 

Formerly  almost  every  place  had  a house  of  this  kind.  If  a house 
was  seated  on  some  melancholy  place,  or  built  in  some  old  romantic 
manner,  or  if  any  particular  accident  had  happened  in  it,  such  as 
murder,  sudden  death,  or  the  like,  to  be  sure  that  house  had  a mark 
set  on  it,  and  was  afterwards  esteemed  the  habitation  of  a ghost.  — 
Bourne’s  Antiquities. 


N the  neighborhood  of  the  ancient  city 
of  the  Manhattoes  there  stood,  not  very 
many  years  since,  an  old  mansion,  which, 
when  I was  a boy,  went  by  the  name  of  the 
Haunted  House.  It  was  one  of  the  very  few 
remains  of  the  architecture  of  the  early  Dutch 
settlers,  and  must  have  been  a house  of  some 
consequence  at  the  time  when  it  was  built.  It 
consisted  of  a centre  and  two  wings,  the  gable 
ends  of  which  were  shaped  like  stairs.  It  was 
built  partly  of  wood,  and  partly  of  small  Dutch 
bricks,  such  as  the  worthy  colonists  brought  with 
them  from  Holland,  before  they  discovered  that 
bricks  could  be  manufactured  elsewhere.  The 
house  stood  remote  from  the  road,  in  the  centre 
of  a large  field,  with  an  avenue  of  old  locust  * 
trees  leading  up  to  it,  several  of  which  had  been 
* Acacias. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE . 


431 


shivered  by  lightning,  and  two  or  three  blown 
down.  A few  apple-trees  grew  straggling  about 
the  field  ; there  were  traces  also  of  what  had  been 
a kitchen-garden;  but  the  fences  were  broken 
down,  the  vegetables  had  disappeared,  or  had 
grown  wild,  and  turned  to  little  better  than  weeds, 
with  here  and  there  a ragged  rose-bush,  or  a tall 
sunflower  shooting  up  from  among  the  brambles, 
and  hanging  its  head  sorrowfully,  as  if  contem- 
plating the  surrounding  desolation.  Part  of  the 
roof  of  the  old  house  had  fallen  in,  the  windows 
were  shattered,  the  panels  of  the  doors  broken, 
and  mended  with  rough  boards,  and  two  rusty 
weather-cocks  at  the  ends  of  the  house  made  a 
great  jingling  and  whistling  as  they  whirled  about, 
but  always  pointed  wrong.  The  appearance  of 
the  whole  place  was  forlorn  and  desolate  at  the 
best  of  times  ; but,  in  unruly  weather,  the  howl- 
ing of  the  wind  about  the  crazy  old  mansion,  the 
screeching  of  the  weather-cocks,  and  the  slamming 
and  banging  of  a few  loose  window-shutters,  had 
altogether  so  wild  and  dreary  an  effect,  that  the 
neighborhood  stood  perfectly  in  awe  of  the  place, 
and  pronounced  it  the  rendezvous  of  hobgoblins. 
I recollect  the  old  building  well;  for  many  times, 
when  an  idle,  unlucky  urchin,  I have  prowled 
round  its  precinct,  with  some  of  my  graceless  com- 
panions, on  holiday  afternoons,  when  out  on  a 
freebooting  cruise  among  the  orchards.  There 
was  a tree  standing  near  the  house  that  bore  the 
most  beautiful  and  tempting  fruit ; but  then  it 
was  on  enchanted  ground,  for  the  place  was  so 
charmed  by  frightful  stories  that  we  dreaded  to 


432 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


approach  it.  Sometimes  we  would  venture  in  a 
body,  and  get  near  the  Hesperian  tree,  keeping 
an  eye  upon  the  old  mansion,  and  darting  fearful 
glances  into  its  shattered  windows,  when,  just  as 
we  were  about  to  seize  upon  our  prize,  an  excla- 
mation from  some  one  of  the  gang,  or  an  acciden- 
tal noise,  would  throw  us  all  into  a panic,  and 
we  would  scamper  headlong  from  the  place,  nor 
stop  until  we  had  got  quite  into  the  road.  Then 
there  were  sure  to  be  a host  of  fearful  anecdotes 
told  of  strange  cries  and  groans,  or  of  some  hid- 
eous face  suddenly  seen  staring  out  of  one  of  the 
windows.  By  degrees  we  ceased  to  venture  into 
tiiese  lonely  grounds,  but  would  stand,  at  a dis- 
tance, and  throw  stones  at  the  building ; and 
there  was  something  fearfully  pleasing  in  the 
sound  as  they  rattled  along  the  roof,  or  sometimes 
struck  some  jingling  fragments  of  glass  out  < f the 
windows. 

The  origin  of  this  house  was  lost  in  the  obscu- 
rity that  covers  the  early  period  of  the  province, 
while  under  the  government  of  their  high  mighti- 
nesses the  states-general.  Some  reported  it  to  have 
been  a country  residence  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  com- 
monly called  the  Testy,  one  of  the  Dutch  govern- 
ors of  New  Amsterdam ; others  said  it  had  been 
built  by  a naval  commander  who  served  under  Van 
Tromp,  and  who,  on  being  disappointed  of  prefer- 
ment, retired  from  the  service  in  disgust,  became 
a philosopher  through  sheer  spite,  and  brought 
over  all  his  wealth  to  the  province,  that  he  might 
live  according  to  his  humor,  and  despise  the  world. 
The  reason  of  its  having  fallen  to  decay  was  like- 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 


483 


wise  a matter  of  dispute ; some  said  it  was  in 
chancery,  and  had  already  cost  more  than  its 
worth  in  legal  expense ; but  the  most  current, 
and,  of  course,  the  most  probable  account,  was 
that  it  was  haunted,  and  that  nobody  could  live 
quietly  in  it.  There  can,  in  fact,  be  very  little 
doubt  that  this  last  was  the  case,  there  were 
so  many  corroborating  stories  to  prove  it,  — not 
an  old  woman  in  the  neighborhood  but  could  fur- 
nish at  least  a score.  A grayheaded  curmudgeon 
of  a negro  who  lived  hard  by  had  a whole  bud- 
get of  them  to  tell,  many  of  which  had  happened 
to  himself.  I recollect  many  a time  stopping  with 
my  schoolmates,  and  getting  him  to  relate  some. 
The  old  crone  lived  in  a hovel,  in  the  midst  of  a 
small  patch  of  potatoes  and  Indian  corn,  which 
his  masrter  had  given  him  on  setting  him  free.  He 
would  come  to  us,  with  his  hoe  in  his  hand,  and 
as  we  sat  perched,  like  a row  of  swallows,  on  the 
rail  of  a fence,  ir  the  mellow  twilight  of  a sum- 
mer evening,  would  tell  us  such  fearful  stories,  ac- 
companied by  such  awful  rollings  of  his  white 
eyes,  that  we  were  almost  afraid  of  our  own  foot- 
steps as  we  returned  home  afterwards  in  the  dark. 

Poor  old  Pompey  ! many  years  are  past  since 
he  died,  and  went  to  keep  company  with  the  ghosts 
he  was  so  fond  of  talking  about.  He  was  buried 
in  a corner  of  his  own  little  potato  patch  ; the 
plough  soon  passed  over  his  grave,  and  levelled  it 
with  the  rest  of  the  field,  and  nobody  thought 
any  more  of  the  grayheaded  negro.  By  singular 
chance  I was  strolling  in  that  neighborhood,  sev- 
eral years  afterwards,  when  I had  grown  up  to 
28 


BRAGEBR1DGE  HALL . 


4<5i 


be  a young  man,  and  I found  a knot  of  gossips 
speculating  on  a skull  which  had  just  been  turned 
up  a by  ploughshare.  They  of  course  determined 
it  to  be  the  remains  of  some  one  who  had  been 
murdered,  and  they  had  raked  up  with  it  some 
of  the  traditionary  tales  of  the  haunted  house.  I 
knew  it  at  once  to  be  the  relic  of  poor  Pompey, 
but  I held  my  tongue ; for  I am  too  considerate 
of  other  people's  enjoyment  even  to  mar  a story 
of  a ghost  or  a murder.  I took  care,  however, 
to  see  the  bones  of  my  old  friend  once  more  bur- 
ied in  a place  where  they  were  not  likely  to  be 
disturbed.  As  I sat  on  the  turf  and  watched  the 
interment,  I fell  into  a long  conversation  with  an 
old  gentleman  of  the  neighborhood,  John  Josse 
Yandermoere,  a pleasant  gossiping  man,  whose 
whole  life  was  spent  in  hearing  and  telling  the 
news  of  the  province.  He  recollected  old  Pom- 
pey, and  his  stories  about  the  Haunted  House; 
but  he  assured  me  he  could  give  me  one  still  more 
strange  than  any  that  Pompey  had  related;  and 
on  my  expressing  a great  curiosity  to  hear  it,  he 
sat  down  beside  me  on  the  turf,  and  told  the  fol- 
lowing tale.  I have  endeavored  to  give  it  as 
nearly  as  possible  in  his  words;  but  it  is  now 
many  years  since,  and  I am  grown  old,  and  my 
memory  is  not  over-good.  I cannot  therefore 
vouch  for  the  language,  but  I am  always  scrupu- 
lous as  to  facts.  D K.  * 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER. 

“ I take  the  town  of  concord,  where  I dwell, 

All  Kilborn  b«  my  witness,  if  I were  not 

Begot  in  bashfulness,  brought  up  in  shamefacedness. 

Let  ’un  bring  a dog  but  to  my  vace  that  can 
Zay  I have  beat  ’un,  and  without  a vault ; 

Or  but  a cat  will  swear  upon  a book, 

I have  as  much  as  zet  a vire  her  tail, 

And  I ’ll  give  him  or  her  a crown  for  ’mends.” 

Tale  op  a Tub. 


fN  the  early  time  of  the  province  of  New 
York,  while  it  groaned  under  the  tyr- 
anny of  the  English  governor,  Lord 
Cornbury,  who  carried  his  cruelties  towards  the 
Dutch  inhabitants  so  far  as  to  allow  no  Dominie, 
or  schoolmaster,  to  officiate  in  their  language 
without  his  special  license  ; about  this  time  there 
lived  in  the  jolly  little  old  city  of  the  Manhattoes  a 
kind  motherly  dame,  known  by  the  name  of  Dame 
Ileyliger.  She  was  the  widow  of  a Dutch  sea- 
captain,  who  died  suddenly  of  a fever,  in  conse- 
quence of  working  too  hard,  and  eating  too  heart- 
ily, at  the  time  when  all  the  inhabitants  turned 
out  in  a panic,  to  fortify  the  place  against  the  in- 
vasion of  a small  French  privateer.*  He  left 
her  with  very  lPtle  money,  and  one  infant  son 


* 1705. 


436 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL . 


the  only  survivor  of  several  children.  1T 
woman  had  need  of  much  management  to 
both  ends  meet,  and  keep  up  a decent  appearance. 
However,  as  her  husband  had  fallen  a victim  to 
his  zeal  for  the  public  safety,  it  was  universally 
agreed  that  “ something  ought  to  be  done  for  the 
widow  ” ; and  on  the  hopes  of  this  “ something  ” 
she  lived  tolerably  for  some  years ; in  the  mean 
time  everybody  pitied  and  spoke  well  of  her, 
and  that  helped  along. 

She  lived  in  a small  house,  in  a small  street, 
called  Garden  Street,  very  probably  from  a gar- 
den which  may  have  flourished  there  some  time 
or  other.  As  her  necessities  every  year  grew 
greater,  and  the  talk  of  the  public  about  doing 
“ something  for  her  ” grew  less,  she  had  to  cast 
about  for  some  mode  of  doing  something  for  her- 
self, by  way  of  helping  out  her  slender  means, 
and  maintaining  her  independence,  of  which  she 
was  somewhat  tenacious. 

Living  in  a mercantile  town,  she  had  caught 
something  of  the  spirit,  and  determined  to  ven- 
ture a little  in  the  great  lottery  of  commerce. 
On  a sudden,  therefore,  to  the  great  surprise  of 
the  street,  there  appeared  at  her  window  a grand 
array  of  gingerbread  kings  and  queens,  with  their 
arms  stuck  akimbo,  after  the  invariable  royal 
manner.  There  were  also  several  broken  tum- 
blers, some  filled  with  sugar-plums,  some  with  mar- 
bles ; there  were,  moreover,  cakes  of  various 
kinds,  and  barley-sugar,  and  Holland  dolls,  and 
wooden  horses,  with  here  and  there  gilt-covered 
picture-books,  and  now  and  then  a skein  of  thread. 


DOLPII  IIEYLIGER. 


439 


or  a dangling  pound  of  candles.  At  the  doorhat 
the  house  sat  the  good  old  dame’s  cat,  a decent 
demure-looking  personage,  who  seemed  to  scan 
everybody  that  passed,  to  criticize  their  dress, 
and  now  and  then  to  stretch  her  neck,  and  to  look 
out  with  sudden  curiosity,  to  see  what  was  going 
on  at  the  other  end  of  the  street ; but  if  by  chance 
any  idle  vagabond  dog  came  by,  and  offered  to  be 
uncivil  — hoity-toity  ! — how  she  would  bristle 
up,  and  growl,  and  spit,  and  strike  out  her  paws ! 
she  was  as  indignant  as  ever  was  an  ancient  and 
ugly  spinster  on  the  approach  of  some  graceless 
profligate. 

But  though  the  good  woman  had  to  come  down 
to  those  humble  means  of  subsistence,  yet  she 
still  kept  up  a feeling  of  family  pride,  being  de- 
scended from  the  Vanderspiegels,  of  Amsterdam ; 
and  she  had  the  family  arms  painted  and  framed, 
and  hung  over  her  mantelpiece.  She  was,  in 
truth,  much  respected  by  all  the  poorer  people  of 
the  place ; her  house  was  quite  a resort  of  the 
old  wives  of  the  neighborhood  ; they  would  drop 
in  there  of  a winter’s  afternoon,  as  she  sat  knit- 
ting on  one  side  of  her  fireplace,  her  cat  purring 
on  the  other,  and  the  tea-kettle  singing  before  it ; 
and  they  would  gossip  with  her  until  late  in  the 
evening.  There  was  always  an  arm-chair  for 
Peter  de  Groodt,  sometimes  called  Long  Peter, 
and  sometimes  Peter  Longlegs,  the  clerk  and  sex- 
ton of  the  little  Lutheran  church,  who  was  her 
great  crony,  and  indeed  the  oracle  of  her  fireside. 
Nay,  the  Dominie  himself  did  not  disdain,  now 
and  then,  to  step  in,  converse  about  the  state  of 


436 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL. 


th^r  mind,  and  take  a glass  of  her  special  good 
cherry-brandy.  Indeed,  he  never  failed  to  call 
on  New-Year’s  day,  and  wish  her  a happy  New 
Year ; and  the  good  dame,  who  was  a little  vain 
on  some  points,  always  piqued  herself  on  giving 
him  as  large  a cake  as  any  one  in  town. 

I have  said  that  she  had  one  son.  He  was  the 
child  of  her  old  age  ; but  could  hardly  be  called 
the  comfort,  for,  of  all  unlucky  urchins,  Dolph 
Heyliger  was  the  most  mischievous.  Not  that 
the  whipster  was  really  vicious ; he  was  only  full 
of  fun  and  frolic,  and  had  that  daring,  gamesome 
spirit  which  is  extolled  in  a rich  man’s  child,  but 
execrated  in  a poor  man’s.  He  was  continually 
getting  into  scrapes  ; his  mother  was  incessantly 
harassed  with  complaints  of  some  waggish  pranks 
which  he  had  played  off ; bills  were  sent  in  for  win- 
dows that  he  had  broken ; in  a word,  he  had  not 
reached  his  fourteenth  year  before  he  was  pro- 
nounced, by  all  the  neighborhood,  to  be  a “ wicked 
dog,  the  wickedest  dog  in  the  street ! ” Nay,  one 
old  gentleman,  in  a claret-colored  coat,  with  a 
thin  red  face,  and  ferret  eyes,  went  so  far  as  to 
assure  Dame  Heyliger,  that  her  son  would,  one 
day  or  other,  come  to  the  gallows ! 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  poor  old  soul 
loved  her  boy.  It  seemed  as  though  she  loved 
him  the  better  the  worse  he  behaved,  and  that 
he  grew  more  in  her  favor  the  more  he  grew 
out  of  favor  with  the  world.  Mothers  are  foolish, 
fond-hearted  beings  ; there ’s  no  reasoning  them 
out  of  their  dotage ; and,  indeed,  this  poor  wom- 
an’s child  was  all  that  was  left  to  love  her  in 


f)OLPB  HEYLTGER. 


439 


this  world;  — so  we  must  not  think  it  hard  that 
she  turned  a deaf  ear  to  her  good  friends,  who 
sought  to  prove  to  her  that  Dolph  would  come  to 
a halter. 

To  do  the  varlet  justice,  too,  he  was  strongly 
attached  to  his  parent.  He  would  not  willingly 
have  given  her  pain  on  any  account ; and  when 
he  had  been  doing  wrong,  it  was  but  for  him  to 
catch  his  poor  mother’s  eye  fixed  wistfully  and 
sorrowfully  upon  him,  to  fill  his  heart  with  bit- 
terness and  contrition.  But  he  was  a heedless 
youngster,  and  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  re- 
sist any  new  temptation  to  fun  and  mischief. 
Though  quick  at  his  learning,  whenever  he  could 
be  brought  to  apply  himself,  he  was  always  prone 
to  be  led  away  by  idle  company,  and  would  play 
truant  to  hunt  after  birds’-nests,  to  rob  orchards, 
or  to  swim  in  the  Hudson. 

In  this  way  he  grew  up,  a tall,  lubberly  boy  ; 
and  his  mother  began  to  be  greatly  perplexed 
what  to  do  with  him,  or  how  to  put  him  in  a way 
to  do  for  himself ; for  he  had  acquired  such  an 
unlucky  reputation,  that  no  one  seemed  willing 
to  employ  him. 

Many  were  the  consultations  that  she  held  with 
Peter  de  Groodt,  the  clerk  and  sexton,  who  was 
her  prime  counsellor.  Peter  was  as  much  per- 
plexed as  herself,  for  he  had  no  great  opinion  of 
the  boy,  and  thought  he  would  never  come  to 
good.  He  at  orce  advised  her  to  send  him  to 
sea : a piece  of  advice  only  given  in  the  most 
desperate  cases  ; but  Dame  Heyliger  would  not 
listen  to  such  an  idea;  she  could  not  think  of 


440 


BRA  CEBRfDGE  HALL . 


letting  Dolph  go  out  of  her  sight.  She  was  sit 
ting  one  day  knitting  by  her  fireside,  in  great 
perplexity,  when  the  sexton  entered  with  an  air 
of  unusual  vivacity  and  briskness.  He  had  just 
come  from  a funeral.  It  had  been  that  of  a boy 
of  Dolph’s  years,  who  had  been  apprentice  to  a 
famous  German  doctor,  and  had  died  of  a con- 
sumption. It  is  true,  there  had  been  a whisper 
that  the  deceased  had  been  brought  to  his  end  by 
being  made  the  subject  of  the  doctor’s  experi- 
ments, on  which  he  was  apt  to  try  the  effects  of 
a new  compound,  or  a quieting  draught.  This, 
however,  it  is  likely,  was  a mere  scandal;  at  any 
rate,  Peter  de  Groodt  did  not  think  it  worth  men- 
tioning ; though,  had  we  time  to  philosophize,  it 
would  be  a curious  matter  for  speculation,  why  a 
doctor’s  family  is  apt  to  be  so  lean  and  cadaver- 
ous, and  a butcher’s  so  jolly  and  rubicund. 

Peter  de  Groodt,  as  I said  before,  entered  the 
house  of  Dame  Heyliger  with  unusual  alacrity. 
A bright  idea  had  popped  into  his  head  at  the 
funeral,  over  which  he  had  chuckled  as  he  shov- 
elled the  earth  into  the  grave  of  the  doctor’s  dis- 
ciple. It  had  occurred  to  him,  that,  as  the  sit- 
uation of  the  deceased  was  vacant  at  the  doctor’s, 
it  would  be  the  very  place  for  Dolph.  The  boy 
had  parts,  and  could  pound  a pestle,  and  run  an 
errand  with  any  boy  in  the  town ; and  what  more 
was  wanted  in  a student  ? 

The  suggestion  of  the  sage  Peter  was  a vision 
of  glory  to  the  mother.  She  already  saw  Dolph, 
in  her  mind’s  eye,  with  a cane  at  his  nose,  a 
knocker  at  his  door,  and  an  M.  D.  at  the  end  of 


D0LPI1  IIEYL1GER. 


441 


his  name,  — one  of  the  established  dignitaries  of 
the  town. 

The  matter,  once  undertaken,  was  soon  effected : 
the  sexton  had  some  influence  with  the  doctor, 
they  having  had  much  dealing  together  in  the 
way  of  their  separate  professions  ; and  the  very 
next  morning  he  called  and  conducted  the  urchin, 
clad  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  to  undergo  the  inspec- 
tion of  Dr.  Karl  Lodovick  Knipperhausein^. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  an  elbow-chair, 
in  one  corner  of  his  study,  or  laboratory,  with  a 
large  volume,  in  German  print,  before  him.  He 
was  a short  fat  man,  with  a dark  square  face, 
rendered  more  dark  by  a black  velvet  cap.  He 
had  a little  nobbed  nose,  not  unlike  the  ace  of 
spades,  with  a pair  of  spectacles  gleaming  on  each 
side  of  his  dusky  countenance,  like  a couple  of 
bow-windows. 

Dolph  felt  struck  with  awe  on  entering  into 
the  presence  of  this  learned  man  ; and  gazed  about 
him  with  boyish  wonder  at  the  furniture  of  this 
chamber  of  knowledge  ; which  appeared  to  him 
almost  as  the  den  of  a magician.  In  the  centre 
stood  a claw-footed  table,  with  pestle  and  mortar, 
phials  and  gallipots,  and  a pair  of  small  burnished 
scales.  At  one  end  was  a heavy  clothes-press, 
turned  into  a receptacle  for  drugs  and  compounds  ; 
against  which  hung  the  doctor’s  hat  and  cloak, 
and  gold-headed  cane,  and  on  the  top  grinned  a 
human  skull.  Along  the  mantelpiece  were  glass 
vessels,  in  which  were  snakes  and  lizards,  and  a 
human  foetus  preserved  in  spirits.  A closet,  the 
ioors  of  which  were  taken  off,  contained  three 


442 


BRA  CKBRIDGE  TJALL 


whole  shelves  of  books,  and  some,  too,  of  mighty 
folio  dimensions,  — a collection  the  like  of  which 
Dolph  had  never  before  beheld.  As,  however, 
the  library  did  not  take  up  the  whole  of  the  closet, 
the  doctor’s  thrifty  housekeeper  had  occupied  the 
rest  with  pots  of  pickles  and  preserves  ; and  had 
hung  about  the  room,  among  awful  implements 
of  the  healing  art,  strings  of  red  pepper  and  cor- 
pulent cucumbers,  carefully  preserved  for  seed. 

Peter  de  Groodt  and  his  protege  were  received 
with  great  gravity  and  stateliness  by  the  doctor, 
who  was  a very  wise,  dignified  little  man,  and 
never  smiled.  He  surveyed  Dolph  from  head  to 
foot,  above,  and  under,  and  through  his  spectacles, 
and  the  poor  lad’s  heart  quailed  as  these  great 
glasses  glared  on  him  like  two  full  moons.  The 
doctor  heard  all  that  Peter  de  Groodt  had  to  say 
in  favor  of  the  youthful  candidate  ; and  then  wet- 
ting his  thumb  with  the  end  of  his  tongue,  he  be- 
gan deliberately  to  turn  over  page  after  page  of 
the  great  black  volume  before  him.  At  length, 
after  many  hums  and  haws,  and  strokings  of  the 
chin,  and  all  that  hesitation  and  deliberation  with 
which  a wise  man  proceeds  to  do  what  he  in- 
tended to  do  from  the  very  first,  the  doctor  agreed 
to  take  the  lad  as  a disciple  ; to  give  him  bed, 
board,  and  clothing,  and  to  instruct  him  in  the 
healing  art ; in  return  for  which  he  was  to  have 
his  services  until  his  twenty-first  year. 

Behold,  then,  our  hero,  all  at  once  transformed 
from  an  unlucky  urchin  running  wild  about  the 
streets,  to  a student  of  medicine,  diligently  pound- 
ing a pestle,  under  the  auspices  of  the  learned 


DOLPJl  I1EYLJGKR. 


443 


Doctor  Karl  Lodovick  Knipperhausen.  It  was  a 
<\~py  transition  for  his  fond  old  mother.  She 
wffs^’delighted  with  the  idea  of  her  boy’s  being 
brought  up  worthy  of  his  ancestors  ; and  antici- 
pated the  day  when  he  would  be  able  to  hold  up 
his  head  with  the  lawyer,  that  lived  in  the  large 
house  opposite ; or,  peradventure,  with  the  Domi- 
nie himself. 

Doctor  Knipperhausen  was  a native  of  the 
Palatinate  in  Germany ; whence,  in  company 
with  many  of  his  countrymen,  he  had  taken  ref- 
uge in  England,  on  account  of  religious  persecu- 
tion. He  was  one  of  nearly  three  thousand  Pal- 
atines, who  came  over  from  England  in  1710, 
under  the  protection  of  Governor  Hunter.  Where 
the  doctor  had  studied,  how  he  had  acquired  his 
medical  knowledge,  and  where  he  had  received 
his  diploma,  it  is  hard  at  present  to  say,  for  no- 
body knew  at  the  time ; yet  it  is  certain  that  his 
profound  skill  and  abstruse  knowledge  were  the 
talk  and  wonder  of  the  common  people,  far  and 
near. 

His  practice  was  totally  different  from  that  of 
any  other  physician,  — consisting  in  mysterious 
compounds,  known  only  to  himself,  in  the  prepar- 
ing and  administering  of  which,  it  was  said,  he 
always  consulted  the  stars.  So  high  an  opinion 
was  entertained  of  his  skill,  particularly  by  the 
German  and  Dutch  inhabitants,  that  they  al- 
ways resorted  to  him  in  desperate  cases.  He 
was  one  of  those  infallible  doctor^  that  are  al- 
ways effecting  sudden  and  surprising  cures,  when 
the  patient  has  been  given  up  by  all  the  regular 


444 


BRACEBRIDGE  JIALL. 


physicians  ; unless,  as  is  shrewdly  observed,  the 
case  has  been  left  too  long  before  it  was  put  into 
their  hands.  The  doctor’s  library  was  the"  talk 
and  ^marvel  of  the  neighborhood,  I might  almost 
say  of  the  entire  burgh.  The  good  people  looked 
with  reverence  at  a man  who  had  read  three 
’whole  shelves  full  of  books,  and  some  of  them, 
too,  as  large  as  a family  Bible.  There  were 
many  disputes  among  the  members  of  the  little 
Lutheran  church,  as  to  which  was  the  wisest  man, 
the  doctor  or  the  Dominie.  Some  of  his  admir- 
ers even  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  he  knew  more 
than  the  governor  himself,  — in  a word,  it  was 
thought  that  there  was  no  end  to  his  knowledge ! 

No  sooner  was  Dolph  received  into  the  doctor’s 
family,  than  he  was  put  in  possession  of  the  lodg- 
ing of  his  predecessor.  It  was  a garret-room  of 
a steep-roofed  Dutch  house,  where  the  rain  had 
pattered  on  the  shingles,  and  the  lightning  gleamed, 
and  the  wind  piped  through  the  crannies  in 
stormy  weather ; and  where  whole  troops  of  hun- 
gry rats,  like  Don  Cossacks,  galloped  about,  in 
defiance  of  traps  and  ratsbane. 

He  was  soon  up  to  his  ears  in  medical  studies, 
being  employed,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  in  roll- 
ing pills,  filtering  tinctures,  or  pounding  the  pestle 
and  mortar  in  one  corner  of  the  laboratory  ; while 
the  doctor  would  take  his  seat  in  another  corner, 
wdien  he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  or  expected  vis- 
itors, and  arrayed  in  his  morning-gown  and  vel- 
vet cap,  would  pore  over  the  contents  of  some 
folio  volume.  It  is  true,  that  the  regular  thump- 
ing of  Dolph's  pestle,  or,  perhaps,  the  drowsy 


DOLPH  HE  YLIGER. 


445 


Buzzing  of  the  summer-flies,  would  now  and  then 
lull  the  little  man  into  a slumber ; but  then  his 
spectacles  were  always  wide  awake,  and  studi- 
ously regarding  the  book. 

There  was  another  personage  in  the  house, 
however,  to  whom  Dolph  was  obliged  to  pay  al- 
legiance. Though  a bachelor,  and  a man  of  such 
great  dignity  and  importance,  the  doctor  was, 
like  many  other  wise  men,  subject  to  petticoat 
government.  He  was  completely  under  the  sway 
of  his  housekeeper,  — a spare,  busy,  fretting  house- 
wife, in  a little,  round,  quilted  German  cap,  with 
a huge  bunch  of  keys  jingling  at  the  girdle  of 
an  exceedingly  long  waist.  Frau  Ilse  (or  Frow 
Ilsy,  as  it  was  pronounced)  had  accompanied  him 
in  his  various  migrations  from  Germany  to  Eng- 
land, and  from  England  to  the  province ; manag- 
ing his  establishment  and  himself  too  : ruling 
him,  it  is  true,  with  a gentle  hand,  but  carrying 
a high  hand  with  all  the  world  beside.  How 
she  had  acquired  such  ascendency  I do  not  pre- 
tend to  say.  People,  it  is  true,  did  talk  — but 
have  not  people  been  prone  to  talk  ever  since  the 
world  began  ? Who  can  tell  how  women  gener- 
ally contrive  to  get  the  upperhand  ? A husband, 
it  is  true,  may  now  and  then  be  master  in  his 
own  house ; but  who  ever  knew  a bachelor  that 
was  not  managed  by  his  housekeeper  ? 

Indeed,  Frau  Ilsy’s  power  was  not  confined  to 

the  doctor’s  household.  She  was  one  of  those 

prying  gossips  who  know  every  one’s  business 

better  than  they  do  themselves  ; and  whose  all- 

seeing  eyes,  and  all-telling  tongues,  are  terrors 

throughout  a neighborhood. 

© © 


446 


BRACEBRiDUE  BALL. 


Nothing  of  any  moment  transpired  in  the  world 
of  scandal  of  this  little  burgh,  but  it  was  known 
to  Frau  Ilsy.  She  had  her  crew  of  cronies,  that 
were  perpetually  hurrying  to  her  little  parlor 
with  some  precious  bit  of  news  ; nay,  she  would 
sometimes  discuss  a whole  volume  of  secret  his- 
tory, as  she  held  the  street-door  ajar,  and  gossiped 
with  one  of  these  garrulous  cronies  in  the  very 
teeth  of  a December  blast. 

Between  the  doctor  and  the  housekeeper  it 
may  easily  be  supposed  that  Dolph  had  a busy 
life  of  it.  As  Frau  Ilsy  kept  the  keys,  and  lit- 
erally ruled  the  roast,  it  was  starvation  to  offend 
her,  though  he  found  the  study  of  her  temper 
more  perplexing  even  than  that  of  medicine. 
When  not  busy  in  the  laboratory,  she  kept  him 
running  hither  and  thither  on  her  errands ; and 
on  Sundays  he  was  obliged  to  accompany  her  to 
and  from  church,  and  carry  her  Bible.  Many  a 
time  has  the  poor  varlet  stood  shivering  and 
blowing  his  fingers,  or  holding  his  frost-bitten 
nose,  in  the  church-yard,  while  Ilsy  and  her  cro- 
nies were  huddled  together,  wagging  their  heads, 
and  tearing  some  unlucky  character  to  pieces. 

With  all  his  advantages,  however,  Dolph  made 
very  slow  progress  in  his  art.  This  was  no  fault 
of  the  doctor’s,  certainly,  for  he  took  unwearied 
pains  with  the  lad,  keeping  him  close  to  the  pes- 
tle and  mortar,  or  on  the  trot  about  town  with 
phials  and  pill-boxes  ; and  if  he  ever  flagged  in 
his  industry,  which  he  was  rather  apt  to  do,  the 
doctor  ‘would  fly  into  a passion,  and  ask  him  iC  he 
ever  expected  to  learn  his  profession,  unless  he 


DOLPE  HEYLIGER. 


447 


applied  himself  closer  to  the  study.  The  fact  is, 
he  still  retained  the  fondness  for  sport  and  mis- 
chief that  had  marked  his  childhood ; the  habit, 
indeed,  had  strengthened  with  his  years,  and  gained 
force  from  being  thwarted  and  constrained.  He 
daily  grew  more  and  more  untractable,  and  lost 
favor  in  the  eyes,  both  of  the  doctor  and  the 
housekeeper. 

In  the  mean  time  the  doctor  went  on,  waxing 
wealthy  and  renowned.  He  was  famous  for  his 
skill  in  managing  cases  not  laid  down  in  the  books. 
He  had  cured  several  old  women  and  young  girls 
of  witchcraft,  — a terrible  complaint,  and  nearly 
as  prevalent  in  the  province  in  those  days  as 
hydrophobia  is  at  present.  He  had  even  restored 
one  strapping  country-girl  to  perfect  health,  who 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  vomit  crtioked  pins  and 
needles ; which  is  considered  a desperate  stage 
of  the  malady.  It  was  whispered,  also,  that  he 
was  possessed  of  the  art  of  preparing  love- 
powders  ; and  many  applications  had  he  in  con- 
sequence from  love-sick  patients  of  both  sexes. 
But  all  these  cases  formed  the  mysterious  part  of 
his  practice,  in  which,  according  to  the  cant 
phrase,  “ secrecy  and  honor  might  be  depended 
on.”  Dolpli,  therefore,  was  obliged  to  turn  out 
of  the  study  whenever  such  consultations  oc- 
curred, though  it  is  said  he  learnt  more  of  the 
secrets  of  the  art  at  the  key-hole  than  by  all  the 
rest  of  his  studies  put  together. 

As  the  doctor  increased  in  wealth,  he  began  to 
extend  his  possessions,  and  to  look  forward,  like 
other  great  men,  to  the  time  when  he  should 


448 


BRA  CEBR ID G E HALL. 


retire  to  the  repose  of  a country-seat.  For  this 
purpose  he  had  purchased  a farm,  or,  as  the 
Dutch  settlers  called  it,  a bowerie , a few  miles 
from  town.  It  had  been  the  residence  of  a 
wealthy  family,  that  had  returned  some  time 
since  to  Holland.  A large  mansion-house  stood 
in  the  centre  of  it,  very  much  out  of  repair,  and 
which,  in  consequence  of  certain  reports,  had 
received  the  appellation  of  the  Haunted  House. 
Either  from  these  reports,  or  from  its  actual 
dreariness,  the  doctor  found  it  impossible  to  get  a 
tenant ; and  that  the  place  might  not  fall  to  ruin 
before  he  could  reside  in  it  himself,  he  placed  a 
country  boor,  with  his  family,  in  one  wing,  with 
the  privilege  of  cultivating  the  farm  on  shares. 

The  doctor  now  felt  all  the  dignity  of  a land- 
holder rising  within  him.  He  had  a little  of  the 
German  pride  of  territory  in  his  composition,  and 
almost  looked  upon  himself  as  owner  of  a princi- 
pality. He  began  to  complain  of  the  fatigue  of 
business  ; and  was  fond  of  riding  out  “ to  look 
at  his  estate.”  His  little  expeditions  to  his  lands 
were  attended  with  a bustle  and  parade  that 
created  a sensation  throughout  the  neighborhood. 
His  wall-eyed  horse  stood,  stamping  and  whisk- 
ing off  the  flies,  for  a full  hour  before  the  house. 
Then  the  doctor’s  saddle-bags  would  be  brought 
out  and  adjusted ; then,  after  a little  while,  his 
cloak  would  be  rolled  up  and  strapped  to  the 
saddle ; then  his  umbrella  would  be  buckled  to 
the  cloak ; while,  in  the  mean  time,  a group  of 
ragged  boys,  that  observant  class  of  beings,  would 
gather  before  the  door.  At  length  the  doctor 


D GJ PH  HEYL1GER. 


449 


would  issue  forth,  in  a pair  of  jack-boots  that 
reached  above  his  knees,  and  a cocked  hat  flap- 
ped down  in  front.  As  he  was  a short,  fat  man, 
he  took  some  time  to  mount  into  the  saddle ; and 
when  there,  he  took  some  time  to  have  the  sad- 
dle and  stirrups  properly  adjusted,  enjoying  the 
wonder  and  admiration  of  the  urchin  crowd. 
Even  after  he  had  set  off,  he  would  pause  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  or  trot  back  two  or  three 
times  to  give  some  parting  orders  ; which  were 
answered  by  the  housekeeper  from  the  door,  or 
Dolph  from  the  study,  or  the  black  cook  from  the 
cellar,  or  the  chambermaid  from  the  garret-win- 
dow ; and  there  were  generally  some  last  words 
bawled  after  him,  just  as  he  was  turning  the  cor- 
ner. 

The  whole  neighborhood  would  be  aroused  by 
this  pomp  and  circumstance.  The  cobbler  would 
leave  his  last ; the  barber  would  thrust  out  his 
frizzled  head,  with  a comb  sticking  in  it ; a knot 
would  collect  at  the  grocer’s  door,  and  the  word 
would  be  buzzed  from  one  end  of  the  street  to 
the  other,  “ The  doctor’s  riding  out  to  his  country- 
seat  ! ” 

These  were  golden  moments  for  Dolph.  No 
sooner  was  the  doctor  out  of  sight,  than  pestle 
and  mortar  were  abandoned ; the  laboratory  was 
left  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  the  student  was  off 
on  some  madcap  frolic. 

Indeed,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  youngster,  as 
he  grew  up,  seemed  in  a fair  way  to  fulfil  the 
ptsdiction  of  the  old  claret-colored  gentleman. 
Hb  was  the  ringleader  of  all  holiday  sports  and 
29 


450 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


midnight  gambols  ; ready  for  all  kinds  A niw 
chievous  pranks  and  hair-brained  adventures. 

There  is  nothing  so  troublesome  as  a hero  on 
a small  scale,  or,  rather,  a hero  in  a small  town. 
Dolph  soon  became  the  abhorrence  of  all  drowsy, 
housekeeping  old  citizens,  who  hated  noise,  and 
had  no  relish  for  waggery.  The  good  dames,  too, 
considered  him  as  little  better  than  a reprobate, 
gathered  their  daughters  under  their  wings  when- 
ever he  approached,  and  pointed  him  out  as  a 
warning  to  their  sons.  No  one  seemed  to  hold 
him  in  much  regard  except  the  wild  striplings  of 
the  place,  who  were  captivated  by  his  open-hearted, 
daring  manners,  — and  the  negroes,  who  always 
look  upon  every  idle,  do-nothing  youngster  as  a 
kind  of  gentleman.  Even  the  good  Peter  de 
Groodt,  who  had  considered  himself  a kind  of 
patron  of  the  lad,  began  to  despair  of  him  ; and 
would  shake  his  head  dubiously,  as  he  listened  to 
a long  complaint  from  the  housekeeper,  and  sipped 
a glass  of  her  raspberry  brandy. 

Still  his  mother  was  not  to  be  wearied  out  of 
her  affection  by  all  the  waywardness  of  her  boy  ; 
nor  disheartened  by  the  stories  of  his  misdeeds, 
with  which  her  good  friends  were  continually  re- 
galing her.  She  had,  it  is  true,  very  little  of  the 
pleasure  which  rich  people  enjoy,  in  always  hear- 
ing their  children  praised ; but  she  considered  all 
this  ill-will  as  a kind  of  persecution  which  he 
suffered,  and  she  liked  him  the  better  on  that  ac- 
count. She  saw  him  growing  up  a fine,  tall,  good- 
looking  youngster,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  the 
secret  pride 'of  a mother’s  heart.  It  was  her  great 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER 


451 


desire  that  Dolph  should  appear  like  a gentleman, 
and  all  the  money  she  could  save  went  towards 
helping  out  his  pocket  and  his  wardrobe.  She 
would  look  out  of  the  window  after  him,  as  he 
sallied  forth  in  his  best  array,  and  her  heart 
would  yearn  with  delight ; and  once,  when  Peter 
de  Groodt,  struck  with  the  youngster’s  gallant 
appearance  on  a bright  Sunday  morning,  observed, 
Well,  after  all,  Dolph  does  grow  a comely  fel- 
low ! ” the  tear  of  pride  started  into  the  mother’s 
eye.  “ Ah,  neighbor  ! neighbor  ! ” exclaimed  she, 
“ they  may  say  what  they  please  ; poor  Dolph 
will  yet  hold  up  his  head  with  the  best  of  them  ! ” 

Dolph  Heyliger  had  now  nearly  attained  his 
one-and-twentieth  year,  and  the  term  of  his  med- 
ical studies  was  just  expiring ; yet  it  must  be 
confessed  that  he  knew  little  more  of  the  pro- 
fession than  when  he  first  entered  the  doctor’s 
doors.  This,  however,  could  not  be  from  any 
want  of  quickness  of  parts,  for  he  showed  amaz- 
ing aptness  in  mastering  other  branches  of  knowl- 
edge, which  he  could  only  have  studied  at  inter- 
vals. He  was,  for  instance,  a sure  marksman, 
and  won  all  the  geese  and  turkeys  at  Christmas 
holidays.  He  was  a bold  rider  ; he  was  famous 
for  leaping  and  wrestling ; he  played  tolerably  on 
the  fiddle ; could  swim  like  a fish ; and  was  the 
best  hand  in  the  whole  place  at  fives  or  ninepins. 

All  ‘these  accomplishments,  however,  procured 
him  no  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  doctor,  who  grew 
more  and  more  crabbed  and  intolerant  the  nearer 
the  term  of  apprenticeship  approached.  Frau 
llsy,  too,  was  forever  finding  some  occasion  to 


452 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


raise  a windy  tempest  about  his  ears,  and  seldom 
encountered  him  about  the  house  without  a clat- 
ter of  the  tongue  ; so  that  at  length  the  jinglin<? 
of  her  keys,  as  she  approached,  was  to  Dolph  lik 
the  ringing  of  the  prompter’s  bell,  that  gives  notice 
of  a theatrical  thunder-storm.  Nothing  but  the 
infinite  good-humor  of  the  heedless  youngster  ena- 
bled him  to  bear  all  this  domestic  tyranny  without 
open  -rebellion.  It  was  evident  that  the  doctor 
and  his  housekeeper  were  preparing  to  beat  the 
poor  youth  out  of  the  nest,  the  moment  his  term 
should  have  expired,  — a short-hand  mode  which 
the  doctor  had  of  providing  for  useless  disciples. 

Indeed  the  little  man  had  been  rendered  more 
than  usually  irritable  lately  in  consequence  of 
various  cares  and  vexations  which  his  country 
estate..,  had  brought  upon  him.  The  doctor  had 
been  repeatedly  annoyed  by  the  rumors  and  tales 
which  prevailed  concerning  the  old  mansion,  and 
found  it  difficult  to  prevail  even  upon  the  country- 
man and  his  family  to  remain  there  rent-free. 
Every  time  he  rode  out  to  the  farm  he  was  teased 
by  some  fresh  complaint  of  strange  noises  and 
fearful  sights,  with  which  the  tenants  were  dis- 
turbed at  night ; and  the  doctor  would  come 
home  fretting  and  fuming,  and  vent  his  spleen 
upon  the  whole  household.  It  was  indeed  a sore 
grievance  that  affected  him  both  in  pride  and 
purse.  He  was  threatened  with  an  absolute  loss 
of  the  profits  of  his  property  ; and  then,  what  a 
blow  to  his  territorial  consequence,  to  be  the 
landlord  of  a haunted  house  1 

It  was  observed,  however,  that  with  all  his 


DOLPH  HEYL1GER. 


453 


hoi 


^tion,  the  doctor  never  proposed  to  sleep  in 
house  himself;  nay,  he  could  never  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  remain  on  the  premises  after  dark, 
but  made  the  best  of  his  way  for  town  as  soon 
as  the  bats  began  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight, 
lhe  fact  was,  the  doctor  had  a secret  belief  in 
ghosts,  having  passed  the  early  part  of  his  life  in 
a country  where  they  particularly  abound;  and 
indeed  the  story  went,  that,  when  a boy,  he  had 
once  seen  the  devil  upon  the  Hartz  Mountains  in 
Germany. 

At  length  the  doctor’s  vexations  on  this  head 
were  brought  to  a crisis.  One  morning  as  he  sat 
dozing  over  a volume  in  his  study,  he  was  sud- 
denly startled  from  his  slumbers  by  the  bustling 
in  of  the  housekeeper. 

“ Here ’s  a fine  to  do  ! ” cried  she,  as  she  en- 
tered the  room.  “ Here ’s  Claus  Hopper  come  in, 
bag  and  baggage,  from  the  farm,  and  swears  he  ’ll 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it.  The  whole 
family  have  been  frightened  out  of  their  wits ; 
for  there  s such  racketing  and  rummaging  about 
the  old  house,  that  they  can’t  sleep  quiet  in  their 
beds!” 

Homier  and  blitzen  ! ” cried  the  doctor,  im- 
natiently  ; “ will  they  never  have  done  chattering 
®>out  that  house  ? What  a pack  of  fools,  to  let  a 
rats  and  mice  frighten  them  out  of  good 
IgHuarters ! ” 

|H  nay,  said  the  housekeeper,  wagging  her 

^Head  knowingly,  and  piqued  at  having  a good 
Miost-story  doubted,  “ there ’s  more  in  it  than  rats 

I 


PH 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  BALL. 


house  ; and  then  such  sights  as  have  beer  1 


hi  it ! Peter  de  Groodt  tells  me,  that  the  famil^v 
that  sold  you  the  house,  and  went  to  Holland, 
dropped  several  strange  hints  about  it,  and  said, 


know  yourself  there ’s  no  getting  any  family  to 
live  in  it.” 

“ Peter  de  Groodt ’s  a ninny  — an  old  woman,” 
said  the  doctor,  peevishly  ; “ I ’ll  warrant  he ’s 
been  filling  these  people’s  heads  full  of  stories. 
It’s  just  like  his  nonsense  about  the  ghost  that 
haunted  the  church-belfry,  as  an  excuse  for  net 
ringing  the  bell  that  cold  night  when  Harmanus 
Brinkerhoffs  house  was  on  fire.  Send  Claus  to 


Claus  Hopper  now  made  his  appearance : a 
simple  country  lout,  full  of  awe  at.  finding  himself 
in  the  very  study  of  Dr.  Knipperhausen,  and  too 
much  embarrassed  to  enter  in  much  detail  of  the 
matters  that  had  caused  his  alarm.  He  stood 
twirling  his  hat  in  one  ha,nd,  resting  sometimes 
on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the  other,  looking  occa- 
sionally at  the  doctor,  and  now  and  then  stealing 
a fearful  glance  at  the  death’s-head  that  seemed 
ogling  him  from  the  top  of  the  clothes-press. 

The  doctor  tried  every  means  to  persuade  him 
to  return  to  the  farm,  but  all  in  vain  ; he  ma 
tained  a dogged  determination  on  the  subjec 
and  at  the  close  of  every  argument  or  solicitati 
would  make  the  same  brief,  inflexible  reply,  “ I 
kan  nicht,  mynheer.”  The  doctor  was  a “lit 
pot,  and  soon  hot ; ” his  patience  was  exhaust 
by  these  continual  vexations  about  his  esta 


‘ they  wished  you  joy  of  your  bargain  ; 9 and  you 


me. 


D0LPI1  HEYLIGER. 


The  stubborn  refusal  of  Claus  Hopper  s 
him  like  flat  rebellion  ; his  temper  suddenly 
over,  and  Claus  was  glad  to  make  a rapid  ret 
to  escape  scalding. 

When  the  bumpkin  got  to  the  housekeepers 
room,  he  found  Peter  de  Groodt,  and  several 
other  true  believers,  ready  to  receive  him.  Here 
he  indemnified  himself  for  the  restraint  he  had 
suffered  in  the  study,  and  opened  a budget  of 
stories  about  the  haunted  house  that  astonished 
all  his  hearers.  The  housekeeper  believed  them 
all,  if  it  was  only  to  spite  the  doctor  for  having 
received  her  intelligence  so  uncourteously.  Pe- 
ter de  Groodt  matched  them  with  many  a won- 
derful legend  of  the  times  of  the  Dutch  dynasty, 
and  of  the  Devil’s  Stepping-stones ; and  of  the 
pirate  hanged  at  Gibbet  Island,  that  continued  to 
swing  there  at  night  long  after  the  gallows  was 
taken  down ; and  of  the  ghost  of  the  unfortunate 
Governor  Leisler,  hanged  for  treason,  which 
haunted  the  old  fort  and  the  government-house. 
The  gossiping  knot  dispersed,  each  charged  with 
direful  intelligence.  The  sexton  disburdened  him- 
self at  a vestry  meeting  that  was  held  that  very 
day,  and  the  black  cook  forsook  her  kitchen,  and 
spent  half  the  day  at  the  street-pump,  that  gos- 
siping-piace  of  servants,  dealing  forth  the  news 
to  all  that  came  for  water.  In  a little  time  the 
whole  town  was  in  a buzz  with  tales  about  the 
haunted  house.  Some  said  that  Claus  Hoppei 
had  seen  the  devil,  while  others  hinted  that  the 
house  was  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  some  of  the 
patients  whom  the  doctor  had  physicked  out  of 


CEB  RIDGE  BALL. 

and  that  was  the  reason  why  he  (lid 
bnture  to  live  in  it  himself, 
this  put  the  little  doctor  in  a terrible  fume. 

Ie  threatened  vengeance  on  any  one  who  should 
affect  the  value  of  his  property  by  exciting  pop- 
ular prejudices.  He  complained  loudly  of  thus 
being  in  a manner  dispossessed  of  his  territories 
by  mere  bugbears  ; but  he  secretly  determined  to 
have  the  house  exorcised  by  the  Dominie.  Great 
was  his  relief  therefore,  when,  in  the  midst  of  his 
perplexities,  Dolph  stepped  forward  and  under- 
took to  garrison  the  haunted  house.  The  young- 
ster had  been  listening  to  all  the  stories  of  Claus 
Hopper  and  Peter  de  Groodt : he  was  fond  of 
adventure,  he  loved  the  marvellous,  and  his  imag- 
ination had  became  quite  excited  by  these  tales  of 
wonder.  Besides,  he  had  led  such  an  uncomfort- 
able life  at  the  doctor’s,  being  subjected  to  the 
intolerable  thraldom  of  early  hours,  that  he  was 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  having  a house  to 
himself,  even  though  it  should  be  a haunted  one. 
His  offer  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  it  was  deter- 
mined he  should  mount  guard  that  very  night. 
His  only  stipulation  was,  that  the  enterprise  should 
be  kept  secret  from  his  mother  ; for  he  knew  the 
poor  soul  would  not  sleep  a wink  if  she  knew  her 
son  was  waging  war  with  the  powers  of  darkness. 

When  night  came  on  he  set  out  on  this  perilous 
expedition.  The  old  black  cook,  his  only  friend 
in  the  household,  had  provided  him  with  a little 
mess  for  supper,  and  a rush-light ; and  she  tied 
round  his  neck  an  amulet,  given  her  by  an  Afri 
can  conjurer,  as  a charm  against  evil  spirits 


DOLPII  IIEYL1G ER. 


457 


olph  was  escorted  oil  his  way  by  the  doctor 
and  Peter  de  Groodt,  who  had  agreed  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  house,  and  to  see  him  safe  lodged. 
The  night  was  overcast,  and  it  was  very  dark  when 
they  arrived  at  the  grounds  which  surrounded  the 
mansion.  The  sexton  led  the  way  with  a lan- 
tern. As  they  walked  along  the  avenue  of  aca- 
cias, the  fitful  light,  catching  from  bush  to  bush, 
and  tree  to  tree,  often  startled  the  doughty  Peter, 
and  made  him  fall  back  upon  his  followers  ; and 
the  doctor  grappled  still  closer  hold  of  Dolph’s 
arm,  observing  that  the  ground  was  very  slippery 
and  uneven.  At  one  time  they  were  nearly  put 
to  total  rout  by  a bat,  which  came  flitting  about 
the  lantern  ; and  the  notes  of  the  insects  from  the 
trees,  and  the  frogs  from  a neighboring  pond, 
formed  a most  drowsy  and  doleful  concert.  The 
front  door  of  the  mansion  opened  with  a grating 
sound,  that  made  the  doctor  turn  pale.  They 
entered  a tolerably  large  hall,  such  as  is  common 
in  American  country-houses,  and  which  serves  for 
a sitting-room  in  warm  weather.  From  this  they 
went  up  a wide  staircase,  that  groaned  and  creaked 
as  they  trod,  every  step  making  its  particular  note, 
like  the  key  of  a harpsichord.  This  led  to  another 
hall  on  the  second  story,  whence  they  entered  the 
room  where  Dolph  was  to  sleep.  It  was  large, 
and  scantily  furnished  ; the  shutters  were  closed  ; 
but  as  they  were  much  broken,  there  was  no 
want  of  a circulation  of  air.  It  appeared  to  have 
been  that  sacred  chamber,  known  among  Dutch 
housewives  by  the  name  of  “ the  best  bedroom  ” ; 
which  is  the  best  furnished  room  in  the  house, 


458 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


but  in  which  scarce  anybody  is  ever  permitted 
to  sleep.  Its  splendor,  however,  was  all  at  an! 
end.  There  were  a few  broken  articles  of  furni-  * 
ture  about  the  room,  and  in  the  centre  stood  a 
heavy  deal  table  and  a large  arm-chair,  both  of 
which  had  the  look  of  being  coeval  with  the  man- 
sion. The  fireplace  was  wide,  and  had  been  faced 
with  Dutch  tiles,  representing  Scripture  stories'; 
but  some  of  them  had  fallen  out  of  their  places, 
and  lay  scattered  about  the  hearth.  The  sexton  lit 
the  rush-light ; and  the  doctor,  looking  fearfully 
about  the  room,  was  just  exhorting  Dolph  to  be 
of  good  cheer,  and  to  pluck  up  a stout  heart,  when 
a noise  in  the  chimney,  like  voices  and  struggling, 
struck  a sudden  panic  into  the  sexton.  He  took 
to  his  heels  with  the  lantern  ; the  doctor  followed 
hard  after  him  ; the  stairs  groaned  and  creaked 
as  they  hurried  down,  increasing  their  agitation 
and  speed  by  its  noises.  The  front  door  slammed 
after  them ; and  Dolph  heard  them  scrabbling 
down  the  avenue,  till  the  sound  of  their  feet  was 
lost  in  the  distance.  That  he  did  not  join  in  this 
precipitate  retreat  might  have  been  owing  to  his 
possessing  a little  more  courage  than  his  compan- 
ions, or  perhaps  that  he  had  caught  a glimpse  of  the 
cause  of  their  dismay,  in  a nest  of  chimney-swal- 
lows, that  came  tumbling  down  into  the  fireplace. 

Being  now  left  to  himself,  he  secured  the  front 
door  by  a strong  bolt  and  bar ; and  having  seen 
that  the  other  entrances  were  fastened,  returned 
to  his  desolate  chamber.  Having  made  his  sup- 
per from  the  basket  which  the  good  old  cook  had 
provided,  he  locked  the  chamber-door,  and  retired 


DOLPH  HE YLIGER. 


459 


to  rest  on  a mattress  in  one  corner.  The  night 
was  calm  and  still ; and  nothing  broke  upon  the 
profound  quiet  but  the  lonely  chirping  of  a cricket 
from  the  chimney  of  a distant  chamber.  The 
rush-light,  which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  deal 
table,  shed  a feeble  yellow  ray,  dimly  illumining 
the  chamber,  and  making  uncouth  shapes  and 
shadows  on  the  walls,  from  the  clothes  which 
Dolph  had  thrown  over  a chair. 

With  all  his  boldness  of  heart,  there  was  some- 
thing subduing  in  this  desolate  scene  ; and  he 
felt  his  spirits  flag  within  him,  as  he  lay  on  his 
hard  bed  and  gazed  about  the  room.  He  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  his  idle  habits,  his 
doubtful  prospects,  and  now  and  then  heaving  a 
heavy  sigh  as  he  thought  on  his  poor  old  mother ; 
for  there  is  nothing  like  the  silence  and  loneliness 
of  night  to  bring  dark  shadows  over  the  brightest 
miij&r-!  By-and-by  he  thought  he  heard  a sound 
as  of  some  one  walking  below  stairs,  fie  lis- 
tened, and  distinctly  heard  a step  on  the  great 
staircase.  It  approached  solemnly  and  slowly, 
tramp  — tramp  — tramp  ! It  was  evidently  the 
tread  of  some  heavy  personage ; and  yet  how 
could  he  have  got  into  the  house  without  making 
a noise  ? He  had  examined  all  the  fastenings, 
and  was  certain  that  every  entrance  was  secure. 
Still  the  steps  advanced,  tramp  — tramp  — tramp  ! 
It  was  evident  that  the  person  approaching  could 
not  be  a robber,  the  step  was  too  loud  and  delib- 
erate ; a robber  would  either  be  stealthy  or  pre- 
cipitate. And  now  the  footsteps  had  ascended  the 
staircase ; they  were  slowly  advancing  along  the 


460 


BRA  CEBRID  G L HALL 


passage,  resounding  through  the  silent  and  empty 
apartments.  The  very  cricket  had  ceased  its  mel- 
ancholy note,  and  nothing  interrupted  their  aw- 
ful distinctness.  The  door,  which  had  been  locked 
on  the  inside,  slowly  swung  open,  as  if  self-moved. 
The  footsteps  entered  the  room  ; but  no  one  was 
to  be  seen.  They  passed  slowly  and  audibly 
across  it,  tramp  — tramp  — - tramp  ! but  whatever 
made  the  sound  was  invisible.  Dolph  rubbed  his 
eyes,  and  stared  about  him  ; he  could  see  to  every 
part  of  the  dimly  lighted  chamber ; all  was  va- 
cant ; yet  still  he  heard  those  mysterious  foot- 
steps, solemnly  walking  about  the  chamber.  They 
ceased,  and  all  was  dead  silence.  There  was 
something  more  appalling  in  this  invisible  visita- 
tion than  there  would  have  been  in  anything  that 
addressed  itself  to  the  eye-sight.  It  was  awfully 
vague  and  indefinite.  He  felt  his  heart  beat 
against  his  ribs ; a cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  his 
forehead  ; he  lay  for  some  time  in  a state  of  vio- 
lent agitation  ; nothing,  however,  occurred  to  in- 
crease his  alarm.  His  light  gradually  burnt  down 
into  the  socket,  and  he  fell  asleep.  When  he 
awoke  it  was  broad  daylight ; the  sun  was  peer- 
ing through  the  cracks  of  the  window-shutters,  and 
the  birds  were  merrily  singing  about  the  house. 
The  bright  cheery  day  soon  put  to  flight  all  the 
terrors  of  the  preceding  night.  Dolph  laughed, 
or  rather  tried  to  laugh,  at  all  that  had  passed, 
and  endeavored  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was  a 
mere  freak  of  the  imagination,  conjured  up  by 
the  stories  he  had  heard ; but  he  was  a little 
puzzled  to  find  the  door  of  his  room  locked  on 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER . 


461 


the  inside,  notwithstanding  that  he  had  positively 
seen  it  swing  open  as  the  footsteps  had  entered. 
He  returned  to  town  in  a state  of  considerable 
perplexity ; but  he  determined  to  say  nothing  on 
the  subject,  until  his  doubts  were  either  confirmed 
or  removed  by  another  night’s  watching.  His 
silence  was  a grievous  disappointment  to  the  gos- 
sips who  had  gathered  at  the  doctor’s  mansion. 
They  had  prepared  their  minds  to  hear  direful 
tales,  and  were  almost  in  a rage  at  being  assured 
he  had  nothing  to  relate. 

The  next  night,  then,  Dolph  repeated  his  vigil. 
He  now  entered  the  house  with  some  trepidation. 
He  was  particular  in  examining  the  fastenings  of 
all  the  doors,  and  securing  them  well.  He  locked 
the  door  of  his  chamber,  and  placed  a chair  against 
it ; then  having  dispatched  his  supper,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  mattress  and  endeavored  to  sleep. 
It  was  all  in  vain ; a thousand  crowding  fancies 
kept  him  waking.  The  time  slowly  dragged  on, 
as  if  minutes  were  spinning  themselves  out  into 
hours.  As  the  night  advanced,  he  grew  more 
and  more  nervous  ; and  he  almost  started  from 
his  couch  when  he  heard  the  mysterious  footstep 
again  on  the  staircase.  Up  it  came,  as  before, 
solemnly  and  slowly,  tramp  — tramp  — tramp  ! It 
approached  along  the  passage  ; the  door  again 
swung  open,  as  if  there  had  been  neither  lock  nor 
impediment,  and  a strange-looking  figure  stalked 
into  the  room.  It  was  an  elderly  man,  large  and 
robust,  clothed  in  the  old  Flemish  fashion.  He 
t\ad  on  a kind  of  short  cloak,  with  a garment 
under  it,  belted  rd  und  the  waist trunk-hose, 


162 


BRA  CK BRIDGE  IIALL. 


with  great  bunches  or  bows  at  the  ki  <ees  ; and  a 
pair  of  russet  boots,  very  large  at  top,  and  stand- 
ing widely  from  his  legs.  His  hat  was  broad  and 
slouched,  with  a feather  trailing  over  one  side. 
His  iron-gray  hair  hung  in  thick  masses  on  his 
neck ; and  he  had  a short  grizzled  beard.  He 
walked  slowly  round  the  room,  as  if  examining 
that  all  was  safe ; then,  hanging  his  hat  on  a peg 
beside  the  door,  he  sat  down  in  the  elbow-chair, 
and,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table,  fixed  his  eyes 
on  Dolph  with  an  unmoving  and  deadening  stare. 

Dolph  was  not  naturally  a coward ; but  he  had 
been  brought  up  in  an  implicit  belief  in  ghosts 
and  goblins.  A thousand  stories  came  swarming 
to  his  mind  that  he  had  heard  about  this  building ; 
and  as  he  looked  at  this  strange  personage,  with 
his  uncouth  garb,  his  pale  visage,  his  grizzly  beard, 
and  his  fixed,  staring,  fishlike  eye,  his  teeth  began 
to  chatter,  his  hair  to  rise  on  his  head,  and  a cold 
sweat  to  break  out  all  over  his  body.  How  long 
he  remained  in  this  situation  he  could  not  tell,  for 
he  was  like  one  fascinated.  He  could  not  take 
his  gaze  off  from  the  spectre ; but  lay  staring  at 
him,  with  his  whole  intellect  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation. The  old  man  remained  seated  be- 
lli nd  the  table,  without  stirring,  or  turning  an  eye, 
always  keeping  a dead  steady  glare  upon  Dolph. 
At  length  the  household  cock,  from  a neighboring 
farm,  clapped  his  wings,  and  gave  a loud  cheerful 
crow  that  rung  over  the  fields.  At  the  sound  the 
old  man  slowly  rose,  and  took  down  his  hat  from 
the  peg  ; the  door  opened,  and  closed  after  him ; 
he  was  heard  to  go  slowly  down  the  staircase, 


D0LP1L  HE  YLIGER. 


463 


tramp  — tramp  — tramp  ! — and  when  hi  liad  got 
to  the  bottom,  all  was  again  silent.  Dolph  lay 
and  listened  earnestly ; counted  every  footfall ; 
listened,  and  listened,  if  the  steps  should  return, 
until,  exhausted  by  watching  and  agitation,  he  fell 
into  a troubled  sleep. 

Daylight  again  brought  fresh  courage  and  as- 
surance. He  would  fain  have  considered  all  that 
had  passed  as  a mere  dream ; yet  there  stood  the 
chair  in  which  the  unknown  had  seated  himself ; 
there  was  the  table  on  which  he  had  leaned ; 
there  was  the  peg  on  which  he  had  hung  his  hat ; 
and  there  was  the  door,  locked  precisely  as  he 
himself  had  locked  it,  with  the  chair  placed  against 
it.  He  hastened  down-stairs,  and  examined  the 
doors  and  windows ; all  were  exactly  in  the  same 
state  in  which  he  had  left  them,  and  there  was  no 
apparent  way  by  which  any  being  could  have  en- 
tered and  left  the  house,  without  leaving  some 
trace  behind.  “ Pooh  ! ” said  Dolph  to  himself, 
“it  was  all  a dream:”  — but  it  would  not  do; 
the  more  he  endeavored  to  shake  the  scene  off 
from  his  mind,  the  more  it  haunted  him. 

Though  he  persisted  in  a strict  silence  as  to 
all  that  he  had  seen  or  heard,  yet  his  looks  be- 
trayed the  uncomfortable  night  that  he  had  passed 
It  was  evident  that  there  was  something  wonder- 
ful hidden  under  this  mysterious  reserve.  The 
doctor  took  him  into  the  study,  locked  the  dgpr, 
and  sought  to  have  a full  and  confidential  com- 
m unicat  ion  ; but  he  could  get  nothing  out  of  him. 
Prau  Ilsy  took  him  aside  into  the  pantry,  but  to 
as  little  purpose  ; and  Peter  de  Groodt  held  him 


464 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


by  the  button  for  a full  hour,  in  the  church-yard, 
the  very  place  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  a ghost- 
story,  but  came  off  not  a whit  wiser  than  the 
rest.  It  is  always  the  case,  however,  that  one 
truth  concealed  makes  a dozen  current  lies.  It 
is  like  a guinea  locked  up  in  a bank,  that  has  a 
dozen  paper  representatives.  Before  the  day 
was  over,  the  neighborhood  was  full  of  reports. 
Some  said  that  Dolph  Heyliger  watched  in  the 
haunted  house,  with  pistols  loaded  with  silver  bul- 
lets ; others,  that  he  had  a long  talk  with  a spec- 
tre without  a head ; others,  that  Doctor  Knipper- 
hausen  and  the  sexton  had  been  hunted  down  the 
Bowery  lane,  and  quite  into  town,  by  a legion  of 
ghosts  of  their  customers.  Some  shook  their  heads, 
and  thought  it  a shame  the  doctor  should  put 
Dolph  to  pass  the  night  alone  in  that  dismal  house, 
where  he  might  be  spirited  away  no  one  knew 
whither ; while  others  observed,  with  a shrug,  that 
if  the  devil  did  carry  off  the  youngster,  it  would 
be  but  taking  his  own. 

These  rumors  at  length  reached  the  ears  of 
the  good  Dame  Heyliger,  and,  as  may  be  supposed, 
threw  her  into  a terrible  alarm.  For  her  son  to 
have  opposed  himself  to  danger  from  living  foes, 
would  have  been  nothing  so  dreadful  in  her  eyes, 
as  to  dare  alone  the  terrors  of  the  haunted  house. 
She  hastened  to  the  doctor’s,  and  passed  a great  part 
of  4ihe  day  in  attempting  to  dissuade  Dolph  from 
repeating  his  vigil  ; she  told  him  a score  of  tales, 
which  her  gossiping  friends  had  just  related  to  her, 
of  persons  who  had  been  carried  off,  when  watch- 
ing alone  in  old  ruinous  houses.  It  was  all  to  no 


DOLPH  UEYLIGER. 


465 


effect.  Dolph’s  pride,  as  well  as  curiosity,  was 
piqued.  He  endeavored  to  calm  the  apprehen- 
sions of  his  mother,  and  to  assure  her  that  there 
was  no  truth  in  all  the  rumors  she  had  heard  ; she 
looked  at  him  dubiously  and  shook  her  head  ; but 
finding  his  determination  was  not  to  be  shaken, 
she  brought  him  a*  little  thick  Dutch  Bible,  with 
brass  clasps,  to  take  with  him,  as  a sword  where- 
with to  fight  the  powers  of  darkness  ; and,  lest 
that  might  not  be  sufficient,  the  housekeeper  gave 
him  the  Heidelberg  catechism  by  way  of  dagger. 

The  next  night,  therefore,  Dolph  took  up  his 
quarters  for  the  third  time  in  the  old  mansion. 
Whether  dream  or  not,  the  same  thing  was  re- 
peated. Towards  midnight,  when  everything  was 
still,  the  same  sound  echoed  through  the  empty 
halls,  tramp  — tramp  — tramp  ! The  stairs  were 
again  ascended  ; the  door  again  swung  open  ; the 
old  man  entered ; walked  round  the  room  ; hung 
up  his  hat,  and  seated  himself  by  the  table.  The 
same  fear  and  trembling  came  over  poor  Dolph, 
though  not  in  so  violent  a degree.  He  lay  in  the 
same  way,  motionless  and  fascinated,  staring  at 
the  figure,  which  regarded  him  as  before  with  a 
dead,  fixed,  chilling  gaze.  In  this  way  they  re- 
mained for  a long  time,  till,  by  degrees,  Dolph’s 
courage  began  gradually  to  revive.  Whether 
alive  or  dead,  this  being  had  certainly  some  object 
:n  his  visitation  ; and  he  recollected  to  have  heawfc 
t said,  spirits  have  no  power  to  speak  until  spo- 
*en  to.  Summoning  up  resolution,  therefore,  and 
making  two  or  three  attempts,  before  he  could 
get  his  parched  tongue  in  motion,  he  addressed 

30 


466 


BRACEB111DGE  HALL. 


fhe  unknown  in  the  most  solemn  form  of  adjura- 
tion, and  demanded  to  know  what  was  the  motive 
of  his  visit. 

No  sooner  had  he  finished,  than  the  old  man 
rose,  took  down  his  hat,  the  door  opened,  and  he 
went  out,  looking  back  upon  Dolph  just  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  as  if  expecting  him  to  fol- 
low. The  youngster  did  not  hesitate  an  instant. 
He  took  the  candle  in  his  hand,  and  the  Bible 
under  his  arm,  and  obeyed  the  tacit  invitation. 
The  candle  emitted  a feeble,  uncertain  ray,  but 
still  he  could  see  the  figure  before  him  slowly 
descend  the  stairs.  He  followed  trembling. 
When  it  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  it 
turned  through  the  hall  towards  the  back  door  of 
the  mansion.  Dolph  held  the  light  over  the  bal- 
ustrades ; but,  in  his  eagerness  to  catch  a sight 
of  the  unknown,  he  flared  his  feeble  taper  so  sud- 
denly, that  it  went  out.  Still  there  was  sufficient 
light  from  the  pale  moonbeams,  that  fell  through 
a narrow  window,  to  give  him  an  indistinct  view 
of  the  figure,  near  the  door.  He  followed,  there- 
fore, down  stairs,  and  turned  towards  the  place  ; 
but  when  he  arrived  there,  the  unknown  had  dis- 
appeared. The  door  remained  fast  barred  and 
bolted  ; there  was  no  other  mode  of  exit ; yet 
the  being,  whatever  he  might  be,  was  gone.  He 
unfastened  the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  fields, 
jjf  was  a hazy,  moonlight  night,  so  that  the  eye 
could  distinguish  objects  at  some  distance.  I 
thought  he  saw  the  unknown  in  a footpath  wliic 
led  from  the  door.  He  was  not  mistaken  ; bu 
how  had  he  got  out  of  the  house  ? He  did  no 


DOLPH  UEYLIGER. 


467 


pause  to  think,  but  followed  on.  The  old  man 
proceeded  at  a measured  pace,  without  looking 
about  him,  his  footsteps  sounding  on  the  hard 
ground.  He  passed  through  the  orchard  of  ap- 
ple-trees, always  keeping  the  footpath.  It  led  to 
a well,  situated  in  a little  hollow,  which  had  sup- 
plied the  farm  with  water.  Just  at  this  well 
Dolph  lost  sight  of  him.  He  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  looked  again ; but  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of 
the  unknown.  He  reached  the  well,  but  nobody 
was  there.  All  the  surrounding  ground  was 
open  and  clear;  there  was  no  bush  nor  hiding- 
place.  He  looked  down  the  well,  and  saw,  at  a 
great  depth,  the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  the  still 
water.  After  remaining  here  for  some  time, 
without  seeing  or  hearing  anything  more  of  his 
mysterious  conductor,  he  returned  to  the  house, 
full  of  awe  and  wonder.  He  bolted  the  door, 
groped  his  way  back  to  bed,  and  it  was  long  be- 
fore he  could  compose  himself  to  sleep. 

His  dreams  were  strange  and  troubled.  He 
thought  he  was  following  the  old  man  along  the 
side  of  a great  river,  until  they  came  to  a vessel 
on  the  point  of  sailing  ; and  that  his  conductor 
led  him  on  board  and  vanished.  Fie  remembered 
the  commander  of  the  vessel,  a short  swarthy  man, 
with  crisped  black  hair,  blind  of  one  eye,  and 
lame  of  one  leg ; but  the  rest  of  his  dream  was 
very  confused.  Sometimes  he  was  sailing  ; some- 
times on  shore  ; now  amidst  storms  and  tempests, 
and  now  wandering  quietly  in  unknown  streets. 
The  figure  of  the  old  man  was  strangely  mingled 
ap  with  the  incidents  of  the  dream,  and  the  whole 


IG8 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


distinctly  wound  up  by  his  finding  himself  on 
board  of  the  vessel  again,  returning  home,  with  a 
great  bag  of  money  ! 

When  he  woke,  the  gray,  cool  light  of  dawn 
was  streaking  the  horizon,  and  the  cocks  passing 
the  reveille  from  farm  to  farm  throughout  the 
country.  He  rose  more  harassed  and  perplexed 
than  ever.  He  was  singularly  confounded  by  all 
that  he  had  seen  and  dreamt,  and  began  to  doubt 
whether  his  mind  was  not  affected,  and  whether 
all  that  was  passing  in  his  thoughts  might  not  be 
mere  feverish  fantasy.  In  his  present  state  of 
mind,  he  did  not  feel  disposed  to  return  immedi- 
ately to  the  doctor’s,  and  undergo  the  cross-ques- 
tioning of  the  household.  He  made  a scanty 
breakfast,  therefore,  on  the  remains  of  the  last 
night’s  provisions,  and  then  wandered  out  into 
the  fields  to  meditate  on  all  that  had  befallen  him. 
Lost  in  thought,  he  rambled  about,  gradually 
approaching  the  town,  until  the  morning  was  far 
advanced,  when  he  was  roused  by  a hurry  and 
bustle  around  him.  He  found  himself  near  the 
water’s  edge,  in  a throng  of  people,  hurrying  to  a 
pier,  where  was  a vessel  ready  to  make  sail.  He 
was  unconsciously  carried  along  by  the  impulse 
of  the  crowd,  and  found  that  it  was  a sloop,  on 
the  point  of  sailing  up  the  Hudson  to  Albany. 
There  was  much  leave-taking,  and  kissing  of  old 
women  and  children,  and  great  activity  in  carry- 
ing on  board  baskets  of  bread  and  cakes,  and  pro- 
visions of  all  kinds,  notwithstanding  the  mighty 
joints  of  meat  that  dangled  over  the  stern ; for 
* voyage  to  Albany  was  an  expedition  of  great 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER. 


469 


moment  in  those  days.  The  commander  of  the 
sloop  was  hurrying  about,  and  giving  a world  of 
orders,  which  were  not  very  strictly  attended  to ; 
one  man  being  busy  in  lighting  his  pipe,  and  an- 
other in  sharpening  his  snicker-snee. 

The  appearance  of  the  commander  suddenly 
caught  Dolph’s  attention.  He  was  short  and 
swarthy,  with  crisped  black  hair ; blind  of  one  eye 
and  lame  of  one  leg  — the  very  commander  that 
he  had  seen  in  his  dream ! Surprised  and  aroused, 
he  considered  the  scene  more  attentively,  and  re- 
called still  further  traces  of  his  dream  : the  ap- 
pearance of  the  vessel,  of  the  river,  and  of  a 
variety  of  other  objects  accorded  with  the  im- 
perfect images  vaguely  rising  to  recollection. 

As  he  stood  musing  on  these  circumstances,  the 
captain  suddenly  called  out  to  him  in  Dutch, 
“ Step  on  board,  young  man,  or  you  ’ll  be  left  be- 
hind ! ” He  was  startled  by  the  summons ; he 
saw  that  the  sloop  was  cast  loose,  and  was  act- 
ually moving  from  the  pier ; it  seemed  as  if  he 
was  actuated  by  some  irresistible  impulse  ; he 
sprang  upon  the  deck,  and  the  next  moment  the 
sloop  was  hurried  off  by  the  wind  and  tide. 
Dolph’s  thoughts  and  feelings  were  all  in  tumult 
and  confusion.  He  had  been  strongly  worked 
upon  by  the  events  which  had  recently  befallen 
him,  and  could  not  but  think  there  was  some  con- 
nection between  his  present  situation  and  his  last 
night’s  dream.  He  felt  as  if  under  supernatural 
influence ; and  tried  to  assure  himself  with  an 
old  and  favorite  maxim  of  his,  that  “ one  way  or 
other,  all  would  turn  out  for  the  best.”  For  a 


170 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


moment,  the  indignation  of  the  doctor  at  his  de- 
parture, without  leave,  passed  across  his  mind, 
but  that  was  matter  of  little  moment ; then  he 
thought  of  the  distress  of  his  mother  at  his 
strange  disappearance,  and  the  idea  gave  him  a 
sudden  pang  ; he  would  have  entreated  to  bo  put 
on  shore  ; but  he  knew  ^ith  such  wind  and  tid^ 
the  entreaty  would  have  been  in  vain.  Then  the 
inspiring  love  of  novelty  and  adventure  came 
rushing  in  full  tide  through  his  bosom  ; he  felt 
himself  launched  strangely  and  suddenly  on  the 
world,  and  under  full  way  to  explore  the  regions 
of  wonder  that  lay  up  this  mighty  river,  and  be- 
yond those  blue  mountains  which  had  bounded 
his  horizon  since  childhood.  While  he  was  lost 
in  this  whirl  of  thought,  the  sails  strained  to  the 
breeze  ; the  shores  seemed  to  hurry  away  behind 
him ; and  before  he  perfectly  recovered  his  self- 
possession,  the  sloop  was  ploughing  her  way  past 
Spiking-devil  and  Yonkers,  and  the  tallest  chim- 
ney of  the  Manhattoes  had  faded  from  his  sight. 

I have  said  that  a voyage  up  the  Hudson  in 
those  days  was  an  undertaking  of  some  moment ; 
indeed,  it  was  as  much  thought  of  as  a voyage  to 
Europe  is  at  present.  The  sloops  were  often 
many  days  on  the  way ; the  cautious  navigators 
taking  in  sail  when  it  blew  fresh,  and  coming  to 
anchor  at  night;  and  stopping  to  send  the  boat 
ashore  for  milk  for  tea  ; without  which  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  worthy  old  lady  passengers  to  sub- 
sist. And  there  were  the  much-talked-of  perils 
of  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  the  highlands.  In  short, 
a prudent  Dutch  burgher  would  talk  of  such  a 


DOLPH  HEYL1GER. 


471 


voyage  foi  months,  and  even  years,  beforehand  ; 
and  never  undertook  it  without  putting  his  affairs 
in  order,  making  his  will,  and  having  prayers  said 
for  him  in  the  Low  Dutch  churches. 

In  the  course  of  such  a voyage,  therefore, 
Dolph  was  satisfied  he  would  have  time  enough 
to  reflect,  and  to  make  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he 
should  do  when  he  arrived  at  Albany.  The  cap- 
tain, with  his  blind  eye,  and  lame  leg,  would,  it  is 
true,  bring  his  strange  dream  to  mind,  and  per- 
plex him  sadly  for  a few  moments  ; but  of  late 
his  life  had  been  made  up  so  much  of  dreams  and 
realities,  his  nights  and  days  had  been  so  jumbled 
together,  that  he  seemed  to  be  moving  continually 
in  a delusion.  There  is  always,  however,  a kind 
of  vagabond  consolation  in  a man’s  having  noth- 
ing in  this  world  to  lose  ; with  this  Dolph  com- 
forted his  heart,  and  determined  to  make  the 
most  of  the  present  enjoyment. 

In  the  second  day  of  the  voyage  they  came  to 
the  highlands.  It  was  the  latter  part  of  a calm, 
sultry  day,  that  they  floated  gently  with  the  tide 
between  these  stern  mountains.  There  was  that 
perfect  quiet  which  prevails  over  nature  in  the 
languor  of  summer  heat ; the  turning  of  a plank, 
or  the  accidental  falling  of  an  oar  on  deck,  was 
echoed  from  the  mountain-side,  and  reverberated 
along  the  shores  ; and  if  by  chance  the  captain 
gave  a shout  of  command,  there  were  airy 
tongues  which  mocked  it  from  every  cliff. 

Dolph  gazed  about  him  in  mute  delight  and 
wonder  at  these  scenes  of  nature’s  magnificence. 
To  the  left  the  Dunderberg  reared  its  woody 


472 


BRA  CL BR ID G E HALL. 


precipices,  height  over  height,  forest  over  forest, 
away  into  the  deep  summer  sky.  To  the  right 
strutted  forth  the  bold  promontory  of  Antony’s 
Nose,  with  a solitary  eagle  wheeling  about  it; 
while  beyond,  mountain  succeeded  to  mountain, 
until  they  seemed  to  lock  their  arms  together,  and 
confine  this  mighty  river  in  their  embraces. 
There  was  a feeling  of  quiet  luxury  in  gazing  al 
the  broad,  green  bosoms  here  and  there  scooped  out 
among  the  precipices  ; or  at  woodlands  high  in  air, 
nodding  over  the  edge  of  some  beetling  blutf,  and 
their  foliage  all  transparent  in  the  yellow  sunshine. 

In  the  midst  of  his  admiration,  Dolph  remarked 
a pile  of  bright,  snowy  clouds,  peering  above  the 
western  heights.  It  was  succeeded  by  another, 
and  another,  each  seemingly  pushing  onwards  its 
predecessor,  and  towering,  with  dazzling  brilliancy, 
in  the  deep-blue  atmosphere  ; and  now  muttering 
peals  of  thunder  were  faintly  heard  rolling  behind 
the  mountains.  The  river,  hitherto  still  and 
glassy,  reflecting  pictures  of  the  sky  and  land, 
now  showed  a dark  ripple  at  a distance,  as 
the  breeze  came  creeping  up  it.  The  fish -hawks 
wheeled  and  screamed,  and  sought  their  nests  on 
the  high  dry  trees  ; the  crows  flew  clamorously  to 
the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  and  all  nature  seemed 
conscious  of  the  approaching  thunder-gust. 

The  clouds  now  rolled  in  volumes  over  the 
mountain-tops  ; their  summits  still  bright  and 
snowy,  but  the  lower  parts  of  an  inky  blackness. 
The  rain  began  to  patter  down  in  broad  and  scat- 
tered drops  ; the  wind  freshened,  and  curled  up 
the  waves  ; at  length  it  seemed  as  if  the  bellying 


D0LPI1  HE  YLIGER. 


m 

clouds  were  torn  open  by  the  mountain-tops,  am 
complete  torrents  of  rain  came  rattling  down 
The  lightning  leaped  from  cloud  to  cloud,  and 
streamed  quivering  against  the  rocks,  splitting 
and  rending  the  stoutest  forest-trees.  The  thun- 
der burst  in  tremendous  explosions ; the  peals 
were  echoed  from  mountain  to  mountain ; they 
crashed  upon  Dunderberg,  and  rolled  up  the  long 
* defile  of  the  highlands,  each  headland  making  a 
new  echo,  until  old  Bull  Hill  seemed  to  bellow 
back  the  storm. 

For  a time  the  scudding  rack  and  mist,  and 
the  sheeted  rain,  almost  hid  the  landscape  from 
the  sight.  There  was  a fearful  gloom,  illumined 
still  more  fearfully  by  the  streams  of  lightning 
which  glittered  among  the  rain-drops.  Never  had 
Dolph  beheld  such  an  absolute  warring  of  the 
elements  ; it  seemed  as  if  the  storm  was  tearing 
and  rending  its  way  through  this  mountain  defile, 
and  had  brought  all  the  artillery  of  heaven  into 
action. 

The  vessel  was  hurried  on  by  the  increasing 
wind,  until  she  came  to  where  the  river  makes  a 
sudden  bend,  the  only  one  in  the  whole  course  of 
its  majestic  career.*  Just  as  they  turned  the 
point,  a violent  flaw  of  wind  came  sweeping  down 
a mountain  gully,  bending  the  forest  before  it, 
and,  in  a moment,  lashing  up  the  river  into  white 
froth  and  foam.  The  captain  saw  the  danger, 
and  cried  out  to  lower  the  sail.  Before  the  or- 
der could  be  obeyed,  the  flaw  struck  the  sloop, 
md  threw  her  on  her  beam  ends.  Everything 
* This  must  have  been  the  bend  at  West  Point. 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL 


>w  was  fright  and  confusion  : the  flapping  of 
the  sails,  the  whistling  and  rushing  of  the  wind, 
the  bawling  of  the  captain  and  crew,  the  shriek 
ing  of  the  passengers,  all  mingled  with  the  rolling 
and  bellowing  of  the  thunder.  In  the  midst  of 
the  uproar  the  sloop  righted  ; at  the  same  time 
the  mainsail  shifted,  the  boom  came  sweeping  the 
quarter-deck,  and  Dolph,  who  was  gazing  un- 
guardedly at  the  clouds,  found  himself,  in  a mo- 
ment, floundering  in  the  river. 

For  once  in  his  life  one  of  his  idle  accomplish- 
ments was  of  use  to  him.  The  many  truant  hours 
he  had  devoted  to  sporting  in  the  Hudson  had  made 
him  an  expert  swimmer  ; yet  with  all  his  strength 
and  skill  he  found  great  difficulty  in  reaching  the 
shore.  His  disappearance  from  the  deck  had  not 
been  noticed  by  the  crew,  who  were  all  occupied 
by  their  own  danger.  The  sloop  was  driven  along 
with  inconceivable  rapidity.  She  had  hard  work 
to  weather  a long  promontory  on  the  eastern 
shore,  round  which  the  river  turned,  and  which 
completely  shut  her  from  Dolph’s  view. 

It  was  on  a point  of  the  western  shore  that  he 
landed,  and,  scrambling  up  the  rocks,  threw  him- 
self, faint  and  exhausted,  at  the  foot  of  a tree. 
By  degrees  the  thunder-gust  passed  over.  The 
clouds  rolled  away  to  the  east,  where  they  lay 
piled  in  feathery  masses,  tinted  with  the  last  rosy 
rays  of  the  sun.  The  distant  play  of  the  light- 
ning might  be  seen  about  the  dark  bases,  and  now 
and  then  might  be  heard  the  faint  muttering  of 
the  thunder.  Dolph  rose,  and  sought  about  tc 
see  if  any  path  led  from  the  shore,  but  all  was 


DOLPTI  HEYLIGER 


475 


savage  and  trackless.  The  rocks  were  piled  upon 
each  other;  great  trunks  of  trees  lay  shattered 
about,  as  they  had  been  blown  down  by  the 
strong  winds  which  draw  through  these  mountains, 
or  had  fallen  through  age.  The  rocks,  too,  were 
overhung  with  wild  vines  and  briers,  which  com- 
pletely matted  themselves  together,  and  opposed  a 
barrier  to  all  ingress ; every  movement  that  he 
made  shook  down  a shower  from  the  dripping  fo- 
liage. He  attempted  to  scale  one  of  these  almost 
perpendicular  heights ; but,  though  strong  and 
agile,  he  found  it  an  Herculean  undertaking. 
Often  he  was  supported  merely  by  crumbling  pro- 
jections of  the  rock,  and  sometimes  he  clung  to 
roots  and  branches  of  trees,  and  hung  almost  sus- 
pended in  the  air.  The  wood-pigeon  came  cleaving 
his  whistling  flight  by  him,  and  the  eagle  screamed 
from  the  brow  of  the  impending  cliff.  As  he 
was  thus  clambering,  he  was  on  the  point  of  seiz- 
ing hold  of  a shrub  to  aid  his  ascent,  when  some- 
thing rustled  among  Jhe  leaves,  and  he  saw  a 
snake  quivering  along  like  lightning,  almost  from 
under  his  hand.  It  coiled  itself  up  immediately, 
in  an  attitude  of  defiance,  with  flattened  head, 
distended  jaws,  and  quickly  vibrating  tongue,  that 
played  like  a little  flame  about  its  mouth.  Dolph  s 
heart  turned  faint  within  him,  and  he  had  well- 
nigh  let  go  his  hold  and  tumbled  down  the  preci- 
pice. The  serpent  stood  on  the  defensive  but  for 
an  instant ; and  finding  there  was  no  attack,  glided 
away  into  a cleft  of  the  rock.  Dolph’s  eye  fol- 
lowed it  with  fearful  intensity,  and  saw  a nest  of 
adders,  knotted,  and  writhing,  and  hissing  in  the 


chasm.  He  hastened  with  all  speed  from  so 
frightful  a neighborhood.  His  imagination,  full 
of  this  new  horror,  saw  an  adder  in  every  curling 
vine,  and  heard  the  tail  of  a rattlesnake  in  every 
dry  leaf  that  rustled. 

At  length  he  succeeded  in  scrambling  to  the 
summit  of  a precipice  ; but  it  was  covered  by  a 
dense  forest.  Wherever  he  could  gain  a lookout 
between  the  trees,  he  beheld  heights  and  cliffs,  one 
rising  beyond  another,  until  huge  mountains  over- 
topped the  whole.  There  were  no  signs  of  culti- 
vation ; no  smoke  curling  among  the  trees  to  in- 
dicate a human  residence.  Everything  was  wild 
and  solitary.  As  he  was  standing  on  the  edge 
of  a precipice  overlooking  a deep  ravine  fringed 
with  trees,  his  feet  detached  a great  fragment  of 
rock  ; it  fell,  crashing  its  way  through  the  tree- 
tops,  down  into  the  chasm.  A loud  whoop,  or 
rather  yell,  issued  from  the  bottom  of  the  glen  ; 
the  moment  after  there  was  the  report  of  a gun ; 
and  a ball  came  whistling  over  his  head,  cutting 
the  twigs  and  leaves,  and  burying  itself  deep  in 
the  bark  of  a chestnut-tree. 

Dolph  did  not  wait  for  a second  shot,  but 
made  a precipitate  retreat ; fearing  every  moment 
to  hear  the  enemy  in  pursuit.  He  succeeded, 
however,  in  returning  unmolested  to  the  shore, 
and  determined  to  penetrate  no  farther  into  a 
country  so  beset  with  savage  perils. 

He  sat  himself  down,  dripping,  disconsolately, 
311  a stone.  What  was  to  be  done  ? where  was 
he  to  shelter  himself?  The  hour  of  repose  was 
approaching : the  birds  were  seeking  their  nests,  the 


DOLPH  IIEYLIGER. 


477 


bat  began  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight,  and  the 
night-hawk,  soaring  high  in  the  heaven,  seemed  to 
be  calling  out  the  stars.  Night  gradually  closed 
in,  and  wrapped  everything  in  gloom  ; and  though 
it  was  the  latter  part  of  summer,  the  breeze  steal- 
ing along  the  river,  and  among  these  dripping 
forests,  was  chilly  and  penetrating,  especially  to  a 
half-drowned  man. 

As  he  sat  drooping  and  despondent  in  this  com- 
fortless condition,  he  perceived  a light  gleaming 
through  the  trees  near  thb  shore,  where  the  wind- 
ing of  the  river  made  a deep  bay.  It  cheered « 
him  with  the  hope  of  a human  habitation,  where 
he  might  get  something  to  appease  the  clamorous 
cravings  of  his  stomach,  and  what  was  equally 
necessary  in  his  shipwrecked  condition,  a com- 
fortable shelter  for  the  night.  With  extreme  dif- 
ficulty he  made  his  way  toward  the  light,  along 
ledges  of  rocks,  down  which  he  was  in  danger  of 
sliding  into  the  river,  and  over  great  trunks  of 
fallen  trees ; some  of  which  had  been  blown 
down  in  the  late  storm,  and  lay  so  thickly  together 
that  he  had  to  struggle  through  their  branches. 
At  length  he  came  to  the  brow  of  a rock  over- 
hanging a small  dell,  whence  the  light  proceeded. 
It  was  from  a fire  at  the  foot  of  a great’  tree  in 
the  midst  of  a grassy  interval  or  plat  among  the 
rocks.  The  fire  cast  up  a red  glare  among  the 
gray  crags,  and  impending  trees ; leaving  chasms 
of  deep  gloom,  that  resembled  entrances  to  cav- 
erns. A small  brook  rippled  close  by,  betrayed 
by  the  quivering  reflection  of  the  flame.  There 
were  two  figures  moving  about  the  fire,  and  others 


478 


BRA  CUB  RIDGE  HALL. 


squatted  before  it.  As  they  were  between  him 
and  the  light,  they  were  in  complete  shadow  : but 
one  of  them  happening  to  move  round  to  the  op- 
posite side,  Dolph  was  startled  at  perceiving,  by 
the  glare  falling  on  painted  features,  and  glittering 
on  silver  ornaments,  that  he  was  an  Indian.  He 
now  looked  more  narrowly,  and  saw  guns  leaning 
against  a tree,  and  h dead  body  lying  on  the  ground. 
Here  was  the  very  foe  that  had  fired  at  him  from 
the  glen.  He  endeavored  to  retreat  quietly,  not 
caring  to  intrust  himself  to  these  half-human  be- 
ings in  so  savage  and  lonely  a place.  It  was  too 
late  : the  Indian,  with  that  eagle  quickness  of  eye 
so  remarkable  in  his  race,  perceived  something 
stirring  among  the  bushes  on  the  rock  : he  seized 
one  of  the  guns  that  leaned  against  the  tree  ; one 
moment  more,  and  Dolph  might  have  had  his  pas- 
sion for  adventure  cured  by  a bullet.  He  halloed 
loudly,  with  the  Indian  salutation  of  friendship  ; 
the  whole  party  sprang  upon  their  feet ; the  salu- 
tation was  returned,  and  the  straggler  was  invited 
to  join  them  at  the  fire. 

On  approaching,  he  found,  to  his  consolation, 
the  party  was  composed  of  white  men,  as  well  as 
Indians.  One,  evidently  the  principal  personage, 
or  commander,  was  seated  on  a trunk  of  a tree 
before  the  fire.  He  was  a large,  stout  man,  some- 
what advanced  in  life,  but  hale  and  hearty.  His 
face  was  bronzed  almost  to  the  color  of  an  In- 
dian’s ; he  had  strong  but  rather  jovial  features,  air 
aquiline  nose,  and  a mouth  shaped  like  a mastiff’s. 
His  face  was  half  thrown  in  shade  by  a broad  hat 
with  a buck’s  tail  in  it.  His  gray  hair  hung  shorv 


DOLPH  I1EYLIGER. 


479 


in  his  neck.  He  wore  a hunting-frock,  with 
Indian  leggins,  and  moccasons,  and  a tomahawk 
in  the  broad  wampum-belt  round  his  waist.  As 
Dolph  caught  a distinct  view  of  his  person  and 
features,  something  reminded  him  of  the  old  man 
of  the  haunted  house.  The  man  before  him, 
however,  was  different  in  dress  and  age  ; he  was 
more  cheery  too  in  aspect,  and  it  was  hard  to  find 
where  the  vague  resemblance  lay ; but  a resem- 
blance there  certainly  was.  Dolph  felt  some  de- 
gree of  awe  in  approaching  him  ; but  was  assured 
by  a frank,  hearty  welcome.  He  was  still  further 
encouraged  by  perceiving  that  the  dead  body, 
which  had  caused  him  some  alarm,  was  that  of  a 
deer  ; and  his  satisfaction  was  complete  in  dis- 
cerning, by  savory  steams  from  a kettle,  sus- 
pended by  a hooked  stick  over  the  fire,  that  there 
was  a part  cooking  for  the  evening’s  repast. 

He  had,  in  fact,  fallen  in  with  a rambling  hunt- 
ing-party, such  as  often  took  place  in  those  days 
among  the  settlers  along  the  river.  The  hunter 
is  always  hospitable ; and  nothing  makes  men 
more  social  and  unceremonious  than  meeting  in 
the  wilderness.  The  commander  of  the  party 
poured  out  a dram  of  cheering  liquor,  which  he 
gave  him  with  a merry  leer,  to  warm  his  heart ; 
and  ordered  one  of  his  followers  to  fetch  some 
garments  from  a pinnace,  moored  in  a cove  close 
by,  while  those  in  which  our  hero  was  dripping 
might  be  dried  before  the  fire. 

Dolph  found,  as  he  had  suspected,  that  the  shot 
from  the  glen,  which  had  come  so  near  giving 
him  his  quietus  when  on  the  precipice,  was  from 


480 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


the  party  before  him.  He  had  nearly  crushed 
one  of  them  hy  the  fragments  of  rock  which  he 
had  detached ; and  the  jovial  old  hunter,  in  the 
broad  hat  and  buck-tail,  had  fired  at  the  place 
where  he  saw  the  bushes  move,  supposing  it  to  be 
some  wild  animal.  He  laughed  heartily  at  the 
blunder,  it  being  what  is  considered  an  exceeding 
good  joke  among  hunters  ; “ but  faith,  my  lad,” 
said  he,  “ if  I had  but  caught  a glimpse  of  you  to 
take  sight  at,  you  would  have  followed  the  rock, 
Antony  Vander  Heyden  is  seldom  known  to  miss 
his  aim.”  These  last  words  were  at  once  a clue 
to  Dolph’s  curiosity ; and  a few  questions  let  him 
completely  into  the  character  of  the  man  before  him, 
and  of  his  band  of  woodland  rangers.  The  com- 
mander in  the  broad  hat  and  hunting-frock  was  no 
less  a personage  than  the  Heer  Antony  Vander 
Heyden,  of  Albany,  of  whom  Dolph  had  many  a 
time  heard.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  hero  of  many  a 
story,  his  singular  humors  and  whimsical  habits 
being  matters  of  wonder  to  his  quiet  Dutch  neigh- 
bors. As  he  was  a man  of  property,  having  had 
a father  before  him  from  whom  he  inherited  large 
tracts  of  wild  land,  and  whole  barrels  full  of  wam- 
pum, he  could  indulge  his  humors  without  control. 
Instead  of  staying  quietly  at  home,  eating  and 
drinking  at  regular  meal-times,  amusing  himself  by 
smoking  his  pipe  on  the  bench  before  the  door,  and 
then  turning  into  a comfortable  bed  at  night,  he 
delighted  in  all  kinds  of  rough,  wild  expeditions : 
never  so  happy  as  when  on  a hunting-party  in 
the  wilderness,  sleeping  under  trees  or  bark  sheds, 
Dr  cruising  down  the  river,  or  on  some  woodland 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER. 


481 


lake,  fishing  and  f >wling,  and  living  the  Lord 
knows  how. 

He  was  a great  friend  to  Indians,  and  to  an 
Indian  mode  of  life ; which  he  considered  true 
natural  liberty  and  manly  enjoyment.  When  at 
home  lie  had  always  several  Indian  hangers-on 
who  loitered  about  his  house,  sleepinglike  hounds 
in  the  sunshine  ; or  preparing  hunting  and  fish- 
ing tackle  for  some  new  expedition  ; or  shooting 
at  marks  with  bows  and  arrows. 

Over  these  vagrant  beings  Heer  Antony  had 
as  perfect  command  as  a huntsman  over  his  pack  ; 
though  they  were  great  nuisances  to  the  regular 
people  of  his  neighborhood.  As  he  was  a rich 
man,  no  one  ventured  to  thwart  his  humors  ; in- 
deed, his  hearty,  joyous  manner  made  him  univer- 
sally popular.  He  would  troll  a Dutch  song  as 
he  tramped  along  the  street ; hail  every  one  a 
mile  off,  and  when  he  entered  a house,  would 
slap  the  good  man  familiarly  on  the  back,  shake 
him  by  the  hand  till  he  roared,  and  kiss  his  wife 
and  daughter  before  his  face,  — in  short,  there 
was  no  pride  nor  ill  humor  about  Heer  Antony. 

Besides  his  Indian  hangers-on,  he  had  three  or 
four  humble  friends  among  the  ivhite  men,  who 
looked  up  to  him  as  a patron,  and  had  the  run  of 
his  kitchen,  and  the  favor  of  being  taken  with 
him  occasionally  on  his  expeditions.  With  a 
medley  of  such  retainers  he  was  at  present  on  a 
cruise  along  the  shores  of  the  Hudson,  in  a pin- 
nace kept  for  his  own  recreation.  There  were 
two  white  men  with  him,  dressed  partly  in  the 
Indian  style,  with  moccasons  and  hunting-shirts ; 


482 


BRACEBRJDfii;  HALL. 


the  rest  of  his  crew  consisted  of  four  favorite 
Indians.  They  had  been  prowling  about  the 
river,  without  any  definite  object,  until  they  found 
themselves  in  the  highlands ; where  they  had 
passed  two  or  three  days,  hunting  the  deer  which 
still  lingered  among  these  mountains. 

“ It  is  lucky  for  you,  young  man,”  said  Antony 
Vander  Hey  den,  “ that  you  happened  to  be 
knocked  overboard  to-day,  as  to-morrow  morning 
we  start  early  on  our  return  homewards  ; and  you 
might  then  have  looked  in  vain  for  a meal  among 
the  ^mountains  — but  come,  lads,  stir  about ! stir 
about ! Let ’s  see  what  prog  we  have  for  supper  ; 
the  kettle  has  boiled  long  enough  ; my  stomach 
cries  cupboard  ; and  I ’ll  warrant  our  guest  is  in 
no  mood  to  dally  with  his  trencher.” 

There  was  a bustle  now  in  the  little  encamp- 
ment ; one  took  off  the  kettle  and  turned  a part 
of  the  contents  into  a huge  wooden  bowl.  An- 
other prepared  a flat  rock  for  a table  ; while  a 
third  brought  various  utensils  from  the  pinnace  ; 
Heer  Antony  himself  brought  a flask  or  two  of 
precious  liquor  from  his  own  private  locker ; 
knowing  his  boon  companions  too  well  to  trust 
any  of  them  with  the  key. 

A rude  but  hearty  repast  was  soon  spread  ; 
consisting  of  venison  smoking  from  the  kettle, 
with  cold  bacon,  boiled  Indian  corn,  and  mighty 
loaves  of  good  brown  household  bread.  Never 
h&d  Dolph  made  a more  delicious  repast';  and 
when  he  had  washed  it  down  with  two  or  three 
draughts  from,  the  Heer  Antony’s  flask,  and  felt 
the  jolly  liquor  sending  its  warmth  through  bis 


DOLPH  HE  Fa  / G ER. 


483 


veins,  and  glowing  round  his  very  heart,  he  would 
not  have  changed  his  situation,  no,  not  with  the 
governor  of  the  province. 

The  Heer.  Antony,  too,  grew  chirping  and  joy- 
ous ; told  half  a dozen  fat  stories,  at  which  his 
white  followers  laughed  immoderately,  though 
(lie  Indians,  as  usual,  maintained  an  invincible 
gravity. 

“ This  is  your  true  life,  my  boy  ! ” said  he, 
slapping  Dolph  on  the  shoulder ; “ a man  is 
never  a man  till  he  can  defy  wind  and  weather, 
range  woods  and  wilds,  sleep  under  a tree,  and 
live  on  bass-wood  leaves  ! ” 

And  then  would  he  sing  a stave  or  two  of  a 
Dutch  drinking-song,  swaying  a short  squab 
Dutch  bottle  in  his  hand,  while  his  myrmidons 
would  join  in  the  chorus,  until  the  woods  echoed 
again  ; — as  the  good  old  song  has  it, 

“ They  all  with  a shout  made  the  elements  ring 
So  soon  as  the  office  was  o’er, 

To  feasting  they  went,  with  true  merriment, 

And  tippled  strong  liquor  gillore.” 

In  the  midst  of  his  joviality,  however,  Heer 
Antony  did  not  lose  sight  of  discretion.  Though 
he  pushed  the  bottle  without  reserve  to  Dolph, 
he  always  took  care  to  help  his  followers  himself, 
knowing  the  beings  he  had  to  deal  with  ; and 
was  particular  in  granting  but  a moderate  allow- 
ance to  the  Indians.  The  repast  being  ended, 
the  Indians  having  drunk  their  liquor,  and  smoked 
their  pipes,  now  wrapped  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  with 
their  feet  to  the  fire,  and  soon  fell  asleep,  like  so 


484 


BRACEBR1DGE  HALL. 


many  tired  hounds.  The  rest  of  the  party  re* 
mained  chatting  before  the  fire,  which  the  gloom 
of  the  forest,  and  the  dampness  of  the  air  from 
the  late  storm,  rendered  extremely  grateful  and 
comforting.  The  conversation  gradually  moder- 
ated from  the  hilarity  of  supper-time,  and  turned 
upon  hunting-adventures,  and  exploits  and  perils 
in  the  wilderness,  many  of  which  were  so  strange 
and  improbable,  that  I will  not  venture  to  repeat 
them,  lest  the  veracity  of  Antony  Vander  Hey- 
den  and  his  comrades  should  be  brought  into 
question.  There  were  many  legendary  tales  told, 
also,  about  the  river,  and  the  settlements  on  its 
borders ; . in  which  valuable  kind  of  lore  the 
Heer  Antony  seemed  deeply  versed.  As  the 
sturdy  bush-beater  sat  in  a twisted  root  of  a tree, 
that  served  him  for  an  arm-chair,  dealing  forth 
these  wild  stories,  with  the  fire  gleaming  on  his 
strongly  marked  visage,  Dolph  was  again  repeat- 
edly perplexed  by  something  that  reminded  him 
of  the  phantom  of  the  haunted  house ; some 
vague  resemblance  not  to  be  fixed  upon  any  pre- 
cise feature  or  lineament,  but  pervading  the  gen- 
eral air  of  his  countenance  and  figure. 

The  circumstance  of  Dolph’s  falling  overboard 
led  to  the  relation  of  divers  disasters  and  singular 
mishaps  that  had  befallen  voyagers  on  this  great 
river,  particularly  in  the  earlier  periods  of  colo- 
nial history ; most  of  which  the  Heer  deliberately 
attributed  to  supernatural  causes.  Dolph  stared 
at  this  suggestion  ; but  the  old  gentleman  assured 
him  it  was  very  currently  believed  by  the  settlers 
along  the  river,  that  these  highlands  were  under 


DOLPU  I1EYL1GER. 


the  dominion  of  supernatural  and  mischievous 
beings,  which  seemed  to  have  taken  some  pique 
against  the  Dutch  colonists  in  the  early  time  of 
the  settlement.  In  consequence  of  this,  they 
have  ever  taken  particular  delight  in  venting  their 
spleen,  and  indulging  their  humors,  upon  the 
Dutch  skippers  ; bothering  them  with  flaws,  head- 
winds, counter-currents,  and  all  kinds  of  impedi- 
ments ; insomuch,  that  a Dutch  navigator  was 
always  obliged  to  be  exceedingly  wary  and  delib- 
erate in  his  proceedings  ; to  come  to  anchor  at 
dusk ; to  drop  his  peak,  or  take  in  sail,  whenever 
he  saw  a swag-bellied  cloud  rolling  over  the 
mountains  ; in  short,  to  take  so  many  precautions, 
that  he  was  often  apt  to  be  an  incredible  time  in 
toiling  up  the  river. 

Some,  he  said,  believed  these  mischievous 
powers  of  the  air  to  be  the  evil  spirits  conjured  up 
by  the  Indian  wizards,  in  the  early  times  of  the 
province,  to  revenge  themselves  on  the  strangers 
who  had  dispossessed  them  of  their  country.  They 
even  attributed  to  their  incantations  the  misad- 
venture which  befell  the  renowned  Hendrick 
Hudson,  when  he  sailed  so  gallantly  up  this  river 
in  quest  of  a northwest  passage,  and,  as  he 
thought,  ran  his  ship  aground ; which  they  affirm 
was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a spell  of  these 
same  wizards,  to  prevent  his  getting  to  China  in 
this  direction. 

The  greater  part,  however,  Heer  Antony  ob- 
served, accounted  for  all  the  extraordinary  cir- 
lumstances  attending  this  river,  and  the  perplex- 
ities of  the  skippers  who  navigated  it,  by  the  old 


ZRACKBlilDGE  HALL. 


iegend  of  the  Storm-ship  which  haunted  Point- 
. no-point.  On  finding  Dolph  to  be  utterly  igno- 
rant of  this  tradition,  the  Ileer  stared  at  him  for 
a moment  with  surprise,  and  wondered  where  he 
had  passed  his  life,  to  be  uninformed  on  so  impor- 
tant a point  of  history.  To  pass  away  the  re- 
mainder of  the  evening,  therefore,  he  undertook 
the  tale,  as  far  as  his  memory  would  serve,  in 
the  very  words  in  which  it  had  been  written  out 
by  Mynheer  Selyne,  an  early  poet  of  the  New 
Nederlandts.  Giving,  then,  a stir  to  the  fire, 
that  sent  up  its  sparks  among  the  trees  like  a 
little  volcano,  he  adjusted  himself  comfortably  in 
his  root  of  a tree,  and  throwing  back  his  head, 
and  closing  his  eyes  for  a few  moments,  to  sum- 
mon up  his  recollection,  he  related  the  following 
legend , 


THE  STORM-SHIP. 


N the  golden  age  of  the  province  of  the 
New  Netherlands,  when  under  the  sway 
of  Wouter  ij  Twiller,  otherwise  called 
the  Doubter,  the  people  of  the  Manhattoes  were 
alarmed  one  sultry  afternoon,  just  about  the  time 
of  the  summer  solstice,  by  a tremendous  storm  of 
thunder  and  lightning.  The  rain  fell  in  such  tor- 
rents as  absolutely  to  spatter  up  and  smoke  along 
the  ground.  It  seemed  as  if  the  thunder  rattled 
and  rolled  over  the  very  roofs  of  the  houses  ; the 
lightning  was  seen  to  play  about  the  church  of 
St.  Nicholas,  and  to  strive  three  times,  in  vain, 
to  strike  its  weather-cock.  Garret  Van  Horne’s 
new  chimney  was  split  almost  from  top  to  bottom  ; 
and  Doffue  Mildeberger  was  struck  speechless 
from  his  bald-faced  mare,  just  as  he  was  riding 
into  town.  In  a word,  it  was  one  of  those  un- 
paralleled storms  which  only  happen  once  within 
the  memory  of  that  venerable  personage  known 
in  all  towns  by  the  appellation  of  “ the  oldest  in- 
habitant.” 

Great  was  the  terror  of  the  good  old  women 
of  the  Manhattoes.  They  gathered  their  children 
together,  and  took  refuge  in  the  cellars ; after 
having  hung  a shoe  on  the  iron  point  of  every 


488 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


bedpost,  lest  it  should  attract  the  ligltning.  At 
length  the  storm  abated  ; . the  thunder  sank  into  a 
growl,  and  the  setting  sun,  breaking  from  under 
the  fringed  borders  of  the  clouds,  made  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  bay  to  gleam  like  a sea  of  molten 
gold. 

The  word  was  given  from  the  fort  that  a ship 
was  standing  up  the  bay.  It  passed  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  and  street  to  street,  and  soon  put  the 
little  capital  in  a bustle.  The  arrival  of  a ship, 
in  those  early  times  of  the  settlement,  was  an 
event  of  vast  importance  to  the  inhabitants.  It 
brought  them  news  from  the  old  world,  from  the 
land  of  their  birth,  from  which  they  were  so  com- 
pletely severed : to  the  yearly  ship,  too,  they 
looked  for  their  supply  of  luxuries,  of  finery,  of 
comforts,  and  almost  of  necessaries.  The  good 
vrouw  could  not  have  her  new  cap  nor  new  gown 
until  the  arrival  of  the  ship ; the  artist  waited  for 
it  for  his  tools,  the  burgomaster  for  his  pipe  and 
his  supply  of  Hollands,  the  schoolboy  for  his  top 
and  marbles,  and  the  lordly  landholder  for  the 
bricks  with  which  he  was  to  build  his  new  man- 
sion. Thus  every  one,,  rich  and  poor,  great  and 
small,  looked  out  for  the  arrival  of  the  ship.  It 
was  the  grea>t  yearly  event  of  the  town  of  New 
Amsterdam  ; and  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the 
other,  the  ship  — the  ship  — the  ship  — was  the 
continual  topic  of  conversation. 

The  news  from  the  fort,  therefore,  brought  all 
the  popidace  down  to  the  Battery,  to  behold  the 
wished-for  sight.  It  was  not  exactly  the  time 
when  she  had  been  expected  to  arrive,  and  the 


THE  STORM-SHIP. 


489 


circumstance  was  a matter  of  some  speculation. 
Many  were  the  groups  collected  about  the  Bat- 
tery. Here  and  there  might  be  seen  a burgomas- 
ter, of  slow  and  pompous  gravity,  giving  his 
opinion  with  great  confidence  to  a crowd  of  old 
wome^n  and  idle  boys.  At  another  place  was  a 
knot  of  old  weather-beaten  fellows,  who  had  been 
seamen  or  fishermen  in  their  times,  and  were 
great  authorities  on  such  occasions  ; these  gave 
different  opinions,  and  caused  great  disputes 
among  their  several  adherents : but  the  man 
most  looked  up  to,  and  followed  and  watched  by 
the  crowd,  was  Hans  Van  Pelt,  an  old  Dutch  sea- 
captain  retired  from  service,  the  nautical  oracle 
of  the  place.  He  reconnoitred  the  ship  through 
an  ancient  telescope,  covered  with  tarry  canvas, 
hummed  a Dutch  tune  to  himself,  and  said  noth- 
ing. A hum,  however,  from  Hans  Van  Pelt,  had 
always  more  weight  with  th&  public  than  a speech 
from  another  man. 

In  the  mean  time  the  ship  became  more  dis- 
tinct to  the  naked  eye : she  was  a stout,  round, 
Dutch-built  vessel,  with  high  bow  and  poop,  and 
bearing  Dutch  colors.  The  evening  sun  gilded 
her  bellying  canvas,  as  she  came  riding  over  th** 
long  waving  billows.  The  sentinel  who  had  given 
notice  of  her  approach,  declared,  that  he  first  got 
sight  of  her  when  she  was  in  the  centre  of  the 
bay  ; and  that  she  broke  suddenly  on  his  sight, 
just  as  if  she  had  come  out  of  the  bosom  of  the 
black  thunder-cloud.  The  by-standers  looked  at 
Hans  Van  Pelt,  to  see  what  he  would  say  to  this 
report : Hans  Van  Pelt  screwed  his  mouth  closer 


490 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


together,  and  said  nothing ; upon  which  some 
shook  their  heads,  and  others  shrugged  their 
shoulders. 

The  ship  was  now  repeatedly  hailed,  but  made 
no  reply,  and  passing  by  the  fort,  stood  on  up  the 
Hudson.  A gun  was  brought  to  bear  on  her,  and, 
with  some  difficulty,  loaded  and  fired  by  Hans 
Van  Pelt,  the  garrison  not  being  expert  in  artil- 
lery. The  shot  seemed  absolutely  to  pass  through 
the  ship,  and  to  skip  along  the  water  on  the  other 
side,  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  it ! What  was 
strange,  she  had  all  her  sails  set,  and  sailed  right 
against  wind  and  tide,  which  were  both  down  the 
river.  Upon  this  Hans  Van  Pelt,  who  was  like- 
wise harbor-master,  ordered  his  boat,  and  set  off 
to  board  her ; but  after  rowing  two  or  three 
hours,  he  returned  without  success.  Sometimes 
he  would  get  within  one  or  two  hundred  yards  of 
her,  and  then,  in  a twinkling,  she  would  be  half  a 
mile  off'.  Some  said  it  was  because  his  oarsmen, 
who  were  rather  pursy  and  short-winded,  stopped 
every  now  and  then  to  take  breath,  and  spit  on 
their  hands ; but  this  it  is  probable  was  a mere 
scandal.  He  got  near  enough,  however,  to  see 
the  crew  ; who  were  all  dressed  in  the  Dutch 
style,  the  officers  in  doublets  and  high  hats  and 
feathers ; not  a word  was  spoken  by  any  one  on 
board ; they  stood  as  motionless  as  so  many 
statues,  and  the  ship  seemed  as  if  left  to  her  own 
government.  Thus  she  kept  on,  away  up  the 
river,  lessening  and  lessening  in  the  evening  sun- 
shiue,  until  she  faded  from  sight,  like  a little 
white  cloud  melting  away  in  the  summer  sky. 


THE  STORM-SHIP. 


491 


The  appearance  of  this  ship  threw  the  gov- 
ernor into  one  of  the  deepest  doubts  that  ever  be- 
set him  in  the  whole  course  of  his  administration. 
Fears  were  entertained  for  the  security  of  the  in- 
fant settlements  on  the  river,  lest  this  might  be 
an  enemy’s  ship  in  disguise,  sent  to  take  posses- 
sion. The  governor  called  together  his  council 
repeatedly  to  assist  him  with  their  conjectures. 
He  sat  in  his  chair  of  state,  built  of  timber  from 
the  sacred  forest  of  the  Hague,  smoking  his  long 
jasmin  pipe,  and  listening  to  all  that  his  counsellors 
had  to  say  on  a subject  about  which  they  knew' 
nothing ; but  in  spite  of  all  the  conjecturing  of 
the  sagest  and  oldest  heads,  the  governor  still  con- 
tinued to  doubt. 

Messengers  were  dispatched  to  different  places 
on  the  river ; but  they  returned  without  any  tid- 
ings— the  ship  had  made  no  port.  Day  after 
day,  and  w7eek  after  week,  elapsed,  but  she  never 
returned  down  the  Hudson.  As,  however,  the 
council  seemed  solicitous  for  intelligence,  they  had 
it  in  abundance.  The  captains  of  the  sloops  sel- 
dom arrived  without  bringing  some  report  of  hav- 
ing seen  the  strange  ship  at  different  parts  of  the 
river ; sometimes  near  the  Pallisadoes,  sometimes 
off  Croton  Point,  and  sometimes  in  the  highlands  ; 
but  she  never  was  reported  as  having  been  seen 
above  the  highlands.  The  crews  of  the  sloops,  it 
is  true,  generally  differed  among  themselves  in 
their  accounts  of  these  apparitions  ; but  that  may 
have  arisen  from  the  uncertain  situations  in  which 
they  saw  her.  Sometimes  it  was  by  the  flashes 
of  the  thunder-storm  lighting  up  a pitchy  night, 


492 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL. 


and  giving  glimpses  of  her  careering  across  Tap* 
paan  Zee,  or  the  wide  waste  of  Haverstraw  Bay. 
At  one  moment  she  would  appear  close  upon 
them,  as  if  likely  to  run  them  down,  and  would 
throw  them  into  great  bustle  and  alarm  ; but  the 
next  flash  would  show  her  far  off,  always  sailing 
against  the  wind.  Sometimes,  in  quiet  moonlight 
nights,  she  would  be  seen  under  some  high  bluff 
of  the  highlands,  all  in  deep  shadow,  excepting 
her  topsails  glittering  in  the,,  moonbeams  ; by  the 
time,  however,  that  the  voyagers  reached  the 
place,  no  ship  was  to  be  seen ; and  when  they 
had  passed  on  for  some  distance,  and  looked  back, 
behold ! there  she  was  again,  with  her  topsails  in 
the  moonshine ! Her  appearance  was  always 
just  after,  or  just  before,  or  just  in  the  midst  of 
unruly  weather ; and  she  was  known  among  the 
skippers  and  voyagers  of  the  Hudson  by  the  name 
of  u the  storm-ship.” 

These  reports  perplexed  the  governor  and  his 
council  more  than  ever  ; and  it  would  be  endless 
to  repeat  the  conjectures  and  opinions  uttered  on 
the  subject.  Some  quoted  cases  in  point,  of  ships 
seen  off  the  coast  of  New  England,  navigated  by 
witches  and  goblins.  Old  Hans  Van  Pelt,  who 
had  been  more  than  once  to  the  Dutch  colony  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  insisted  that  this  must 
be  the  flying  Dutchman,  which  had  so  long 
haunted  Table  Bay;  but  being  unable  to  make 
port,  had  now  sought  another  harbor.  Others 
suggested,  that,  if  it  really  was  a supernatural  ap- 
parition, as  there  was  every  natural  reason  to  be- 
lieve, it  might  be  Hendrick  Hudson,  and  his  crew 


THE  S T OR  M - SHIP. 


493 


of  the  Halfmoon ; who,  it  was  well  known,  had 
once  run  aground  in  the  upper  part  of  the  river 
in  seeking  a northwest  passage  to  China.  This 
opinion  had  very  little  weight  with  the  governor, 
but  it  passed  current  out  of  doors  ; for  indeed  it 
had  already  been  reported,  that  Hendrick  Hudson 
and  his  crew  haunted  the  Kaatskill  Mountain ; 
and  it  appeared  very  reasonable  to  suppose,  that 
his  ship  might  infest  the  river  where  the  enter- 
prise was  baffled,  or  that  it  might  bear  the  shad- 
owy crew  to  their  periodical  revels  in  the  moun- 
tain. 

Other  events  occurred  to  occupy  the  thoughts 
and  doubts  of  the  sage  Wouter  and  his  council, 
and  the  storm-ship  ceased  to  be  a subject  of  delib- 
eration at  the  board.  It  continued,  however,  a 
matter  of  popular  belief  and  marvellous  anecdote 
through  the  whole  time  of  the  Dutch  government, 
and  particularly  just  before  the  capture  of  New 
Amsterdam,  and  the  subjugation  of  the  province 
by  the  English  squadron.  About  that  time  the 
storm-ship  was  repeatedly  seen  in  the  Tappaan 
Zee,  and  about  Weehawk,  and  even  down  as  fai 
as  Hoboken ; and  her  appearance  was  supposed 
to  be  ominous  of  the  approaching  squall  in  public 
affairs,  and  the  downfall  of  Dutch  domination. 

Since  that  time  we  have  no  authentic  accounts 
of  her ; though  it  is  said  she  still  haunts  the  high- 
lands, and  cruises  about  Point-no-point.  People 
who  live  along  the  river  insist  that  they  some- 
times see  her  in  summer  moonlight ; and  that  in 
a deep  still  midnight  they  have  heard  the  chant 
)f  her  crew,  as  if  heaving  the  lead ; but  sights 


491 


BRA  CEB  ll  i 1)  (j  E BA  L t .. 


and  sounds  are  so  deceptive  along  the  mountainous 
shores,  and  about  the  wide  bays  and  long  reaches 
of  this  great  river,  that  I confess  I have!  very 
strong  doubts  upon  the  subject. 

It  is  certain,  nevertheless,  that  strange  things 
have  been  seen  in  these  highlands  in  storms,  which 
are  considered  as  connected  with  the  old  story  of 
the  ship.  The  captains  of  the  river  craft  talk  of 
a little  bulbous-bottomed  Dutch  goblin,  in  trunk- 
hose  and  sugar-loafed  hat,  with  a speaking-trumpet 
in  his . hand,  which  they  say  keeps  about  the  Dun- 
derberg.#  They  declare  that  they  have  heard 
him,  in  stormy  weather,  in  the  midst  of  the  tur- 
moil, giving  orders  in  Low  Dutch  for  the  piping 
up  of  a fresh  gust  of  wind,  or  the  rattling  off  of 
another  thunder-clap.  That  sometimes  he  has 
been  seen  surrounded  by  a crew  of  little  imps  in 
broad  breeches  and  short  doublets ; tumbling  head- 
over-heels  in  the  rack  and  mist,  and  playing  a 
thousand  gambols  in  the  air  ; or  buzzing  like  a 
swarm  of  flies  about  Antony’s  Nose ; and  that,  at 
such  times,  the  hurry-scurry  of  the  storm  was 
always  greatest.  One  time  a sloop,  in  passing  by 
the  Dunderberg,  was  overtaken  by  a thunder 
gust,  that  came  scouring  round  the  mountain,  and 
seemed  to  burst  just  over  the  vessel.  Though 
tight  and  well  ballasted,  she  labored  dread  fully, 
and  the  water  came  over  the  gunwale.  All  the 
crew  were  amazed  when  it  was  discovered  that 
there  was  a little  white  sugar-loaf  hat  on  the 
mast-head,  known  at  once  to  be  the  hat  of  the 
Fleer  of  the  Dunderberg.  Nobody,  however, 
* i.  e.  The  “ Thunder-Mountain,”  so  called  from  its  echoes. 


THE  STORM-SHIP. 


495 


dared  to  climb  to  the  mast-head,  and  get  rid  of 
this  terrible  hat.  The  sloop  continued  laboring 
and  rocking,  as  if  she  would  have  rolled  her  mast 
overboard,  and  seemed  in  continual  danger  either 
of  upsetting  or  of  running  on  shore.  In  this  way 
she  drove  quite  through  the  highlands,  until  she 
had  passed  Pollopol’s  Island,  where,  it  is  said,  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Dunderberg  potentate  ceases. 
No  sooner  had  she  passed  this  bourn,  than  the 
little  hat  spun  up  into  the  air  like  a top,  whirled 
up  all  the  clouds  into  a vortex,  and  hurried  them 
back  to  the  summit  of  the  Dunderberg  ; while  the 
sloop  righted  herself,  and  sailed  on  as  quietly  as 
if  in  a mill-pond.  Nothing  saved  her  from  utter 
wreck  but  the  fortunate  circumstance  of  having  a 
horse-shoe  nailed  against  the  mast,  — a wise  pre- 
caution against  evil  spirits,  since  adopted  by  all 
the  Dutch  captains  that  ;iavigate  this  haunted 
river. 

There  is  another  story  told  of  this  foul-weather 
urchin,  by  Skipper  Daniel  Ouselsticker,  of  Fish- 
kill,  who  was  never  known  to  tell  a lie.  He  de- 
clared, that,  in  a severe  squall,  he  saw  him  seated 
astride  of  his  bowsprit,  riding  the  sloop  ashore,  full 
butt  against  Antony’s  Nose,  and  that  he  was  exor- 
cised by  Dominie  Van  Gieson,  of  Esopus,  who 
happened  to  be  on  board,  and  who  sang  the  hymn 
of  St.  Nicholas ; whereupon  the  goblin  threw  him- 
self up  in  the  air  like  a ball,  and  went  off  in  a 
whirlwind,  carrying  away  with  him  the  nightcap 
of  the  Dominie’s  wife  ; which  was  discovered  the 
next  Sunday  morning  hanging  on  the  weather- 
cock of  Esopus"  church -steeple,  at  least  forty  miles 


196 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  BALL. 


off!  Several  events  of  this  kind  having  taken 
place,  the  regular  skippers  of  the  river,  for  a long 
time,  did  not  venture  to  pass  the  Dunderberg 
without  lowering  their  peaks,  out  of  homage  to 
the  Heer  of  the  mountain ; and  it  was  observed 
that  all  such  as  paid  this  tribute  of  respect  were 
suffered  to  pass  unmolested.* 

“ Such,”  said  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  “ are  a 
few  of  the  stories  written  down  by  Selyne  the 
poet,  concerning  the  storm-ship,  — which  he  af- 
firms to  have  brought  a crew  of  mischievous  imps 
into  the  province,  from  some  old  ghost-ridden 

* Among  the  superstitions  which  prevailed  in  the  colonies, 
during  the  early  times  of  the  settlements,  there  seems  to  have 
been  a singular  one  about  phantom  ships.  The  superstitious 
fancies  of  men  are  always  apt  to  turn  upon  those  objects  which 
concern  their  daily  occupations.  The  solitary  ship,  which, 
from  year  to  year,  came  like  a raven  in  the  wilderness,  bring- 
ing to  the  inhabitants  of  a settlement  the  comforts  of  life  from 
the  world  from  which  they  were  cut  off,  was  apt  to  be  present 
to  their  dreams,  whether  sleeping  or  waking.  The  accidental 
sight  from  shore  of  a sail  gliding  along  the  horizon  in  those 
as  yet  lonely  seas,  was  apt  to  be  a matter  of  much  talk  and 
speculation.  The’e  is  mention  made  in  one  of  the  early  New 
England  writers  of  a ship  navigated  by  witches,  with  a great 
horse  that  stood  by  the  mainmast.  I have  met  with  another 
story,  somewhere,  of  a ship  that  drove  on  shore,  in  fair,  sunny, 
tranquil  weather,  with  sails  all  set,  and  a table  spread  in  the 
cabin,  a?  if  to  regale  a number  of  guests,  yet  not  a living  be- 
ing or  biard  These  phantom  ships  always  sailed  in  the  eye 
of  the  wind;  or  ploughed  their  way  with  great  velocity,  mak- 
ing the  smooth  sea  foam  before  their  bows,  when  not  a breath 
)f  air  was  stirring. 

Moore  has  finely  wrought  up  one  of  these  legends  of  the  sea 
into  a little  tale,  which,  within  a small  compass,  contains  the 
very  essence  of  this  species  of  supernatural  fiction.  I allude 
to  hie  Spectre  Ship,  bound  to  Deadman’s  Isle. 


DOLPn  UEYLIGER.  497 

country  of  Europe.  I could  give  you  a host  more, 
if  necessary;  for  all  the  accidents  that  so  often 
befall  the  river  craft  in  the  highlands  are  said  to 
'e  tricks  played  off  by  these  imps  of  the  Dun- 
^erberg ; but  I see  that  you  are  nodding,  so  le* 
us  turn  in  for  the  night.” 

The  moon  had  just  raised  her  silver  horns 
above  the  round  back  of  Old  Bull  Hill,  and  lit  up 
the  gray  rocks  and  shagged  forests,  and  glittered 
on  the  waving  bosom  of  the  river.  The  night- 
dew  was  falling,  and  the  late  gloomy  mountains 
began  to  soften  and  put  on  a gray  aerial  tint  in 
the  dewy  light.  The  hunters  stirred  the  fire,  and 
threw  on  fresh  fuel  to  qualify  the  damp  of  the 
night-air.  They  then  prepared  a bed  of  branches 
and  dry  leaves  uuder  a ledge  of  rocks  for  Dolph ; 
while  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  wrapping  himself 
in  a huge  coat  of  skins,  stretched  himself  befoiv 
the  +}te.  If  was  some  time,  however,  before 
Dolph  could  close  his  eyes.  He  lay  contemplat- 
ing the  strange  scene  before  him : the  wild  woods 
and  rocks  around  ; the  fire  throwing  fitful  gleams 
on  the  faces  of  the  sleeping  savages;  and  the 
Heei  Antony,  too,  who  so  singularly,  yet  vaguely, 
reminded  him  of  the  nightly  visitant  to  the  haunted 
house.  Now  and  then  he  heard  the  cry  of  some 
animal  from  the  forest ; or  the  hooting  of  the  owl ; 
or  the  notes  of  the  whippoorwill,  which  seemed 
to  abound  among  these  solitudes  ; or  the  splash  of  a 
sturgeon,  leaping  out  of  the  river,  and  falling  back 
full-length  on  its  placid  surface.  He  contrasted 
all  this  with  his  rccustomed  nest  in  the  garret- 
32 


498 


BRA  CEBRLDGE  HALL . 


room  or’  the  doctor’s  mansion  ; — where  the  only 
sounds  at  night  were  the  church-clock  telling  the 
hour  ; the  drowsy  voice  of  the  watchman,  drawl- 
ing out  all  was  well ; the  deep  snoring  of  the 
doctor’s  clubbed  nose  from  below-stairs  ; or  the 
cautious  labors  of  some  carpenter  rat  gnawing  in 
the  wainscot.  His  thoughts  then  wandered  to  his 
poor  old  mother : what  would  she  think  of  his 
mysterious  disappearance  — what  anxiety  and  dis 
tress  would  she  not  suffer  ? This  thought  would 
continually  intrude  itself  to  mar  his  present  en- 
joyment. It  brought  with  it  a feeling  of  pain 
and  compunction,  and  he  fell  asleep  with  the  tears 
yet  standing  in  his  eyes. 

Were  this  a mere  tale  of  fancy,  here  would  be 
a fine  opportunity  for  weaving  in  strange  adven- 
tures among  these  wild  mountains,  and  roving 
hunters ; and,  after  involving  my  hero  in  a vari- 
ety of  perils  and  difficulties,  rescuing  him  from 
them  all  by  some  miraculous  contrivance  ;’^imt  as 
this  is  absolutely  a true  story,  I must  content  my- 
self with  simple  facts,  and  keep  to  probabilities. 

At  an  early  hour  of  the  next  day,  therefore, 
after  a hearty  morning’s  meal,  the  encampment 
broke  up,  and  our  adventurers  embarked  in  the 
pinnace  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden.  There  be- 
ing no  wind  for  the  sails,  the  Indians  rowed  her 
gently  along,  keeping  time  to  a kind  of  chant  of 
one  of  the  white  men.  The  day  was  serene  and 
beautiful ; the  river  without  a wave  ; and  as  the 
vessel  cleft  the  glassy  water,  it  left  a long,  undu- 
lating track  behind.  The  crows,  who  had  scented 
the  hunters’  banquet,  were  already  gathering  and 


DOLPH  HE  YL 1GER. 


499 


hovering  in  the  air,  just  where  a column  of  thin, 
blue  smoke,  rising  from  among  the  trees  showed 
the  place  of  their  last  night’s  quarters.  As  they 
coasted  along  the  bases  of  the  mountains,  the  Heer 
Antony  pointed  out  to  Dolph  a bald  eagle,  the 
sovereign  of  these  regions,  who  sat  perched  on  a 
dry  tree  that  projected  over  the  river,  and,  with 
eye  turned  upwards,  seemed  to  be  drinking  in  the 
splendor  of  the  morning  sun.  Their  approach 
disturbed  the  monarch’s  meditations.  He  first 
spread  one  wing,  and  then  the  other ; balanced 
himself  for  a moment ; and  then,  quitting  his 
perch  with  dignified  composure,  wheeled  slowly 
over  their  heads.  Dolph  snatched  up  a gun,  and 
sent  a whistling  ball  after  him,  that  cut  some  of 
the  feathers  from  his  wing ; the  report  of  the  gun 
leaped  sharply  from  rock  to  rock,  and  awakened  a 
thousand  echoes  ; but  the  monarch  of  the  air  sailed 
calmly  on,  ascending  higher  and  higher,  and 
wheeling  widely  as  he  ascended,  soaring  up  tin 
green  bosom  of  the  woody  mountain,  until  he 
disappeared  over  the  brow  of  a beetling  precipice?. 
Dolph  felt  in  a manner  rebuked  by  this  proud 
tranquillity,  and  almost  reproached  himself  fer 
having  so  wantonly  insulted  this  majestic  bird. 
Heer  Antony  told  him,  laughing,  to  remember 
that  he  was  not  yet  out  of  the  territories  of  the 
lord  of  the  Dunderberg  ; and  an  old  Indian  shook 
his  head,  and  observed,  that  there  was  bad  luck  in 
killing  an  eagle ; the  hunter,  on  the  contrary, 
should  always  leave  him  a portion  of  his  spoils. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred  to  molest  them  on 
their  voyage.  They  passed  pleasantly  through 


500 


BRACEBRIDGE  BALL. 


magnificent  and  lonely  scenes,  until  they  came  to 
where  Pollopol’s  Island  lay,  like  a floating  bower 
at  the  extremity  of  the  highlands.  Here  they 
landed,  until  the  heat  of  the  day  should  abate,  or 
a breeze  spring  up  that  might  supersede  the  la- 
bor of  the  oar.  Some  prepared  the  mid-day  meal, 
while  others  reposed  under  the  shade  of  the  trees, 
in  luxurious  summer  indolence,  looking  drowsily 
forth  upon  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  On  the  one 
side  were  the  highlands,  vast  and  cragged,  feath- 
ered to  the  top  with  forests,  and  throwing  their 
shadows  on  the  glassy  water  that  dimpled  at 
their  feet.  On  the  other  side  was  a wide  expanse 
of  the  river,  like  a broad  lake,  with  long  sunny 
reaches,  and  green  headlands  ; and  the  distant 
line  of  Shawangunk  mountains  waving  along  a 
clear  horizon,  or  checkered  by  a fleecy  cloud. 

But  I forbear  to  dwell  on  the  particulars  of 
their  cruise  along  the  river  ; this  vagrant,  amphib- 
ious life,  careering  across  silver  sheets  of  water  ; 
coasting  wild  woodland  shores ; banqueting  on 
shady  promontories,  with  the  spreading  tree  over- 
head, the  river  curling  its  light  foam  to  one’s  feet, 
and  distant  mountain,  and  rock,  and  tree,  and 
snowy  cloud,  and  deep-blue  sky,  all  mingling  in 
summer  beauty  before  one  ; all  this,  though  never 
cloying  in  the  enjoyment,  would  be  but  tedious  in 
narration. 

When  encamped  by  the  water-side,  some  of 
the  party  would  go  into  the  woods  and  hunt ; 
others  would  fish : sometimes  they  would  amuse 
themselves  by  shooting  at  a mark,  by  leaping,  by 
running,  by  wrestling ; and  Dolph  gained  great 


DOLPII  HE > LIG EE. 


501 


favor  in  the  eyes  of  Antony  Yander  Hey  den,  by 
his  skill  and  adroitness  in  all  these  exercises ; 
which  the  Heer  considered  as  the  highest  of  man- 
ly accomplishments. 

Thus  did  they  coast  jollily  on,  choosing  only 
the  pleasant  hours  for  voyaging  ; sometimes  in 
the  cool  morning  dawn,  sometimes  in  the  sober 
evening  twilight,  and  sometimes  when  the  moon- 
shine spangled  the  crisp  curling  waves  that  whis- 
pered along  the  sides  of  their  little  bark.  Never 
had  Dolph  felt  so  completely  in  his  element ; 
never  had  he  met  with  anything  so  completely  to 
his  taste  as  this  wild,  hap-hazard  life.  He  was 
the  very  man  to  second  Antony  Vander  Heyden 
in  his  rambling  humors,  and  gained  continually 
on  his  affections.  The  heart  of  the  old  bush- 
whacker yearned  toward  the  young  man,  who 
seemed  thus  growing  up  in  his  own  likeness  ; 
and  as  they  approached  to  the  end  of  their  voy- 
age, he  could  not  help  inquiring  a little  into  his 
history.  Dolph  frankly  told  him  his  course  of 
life,  his  severe  medical  studies,  his  little  proficiency, 
and  his  very  dubious  prospects.  The  Heer  was 
shocked  to  find  that  such  amazing  talents  and  ac- 
complishments were  to  be  cramped  and  buried 
under  a doctor’s  wig.  He  had  a sovereign  con- 
tempt for  the  healing  art,  having  never  had  any 
other  physician  than  the  butcher.  He  bore  a mor- 
tal grudge  to  all  kinds  of  study  also,  ever  since 
he  had  been  flogged  about  an  unintelligible  book 
when  he  was  a boy.  But  to  think  that  a young 
fellow  like  Dolph,  of  such  wonderful  abilities, 
who  could  shoot,  fish,  run.  jump,  ride,  and  wrestle 


502 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


should  be  obliged  to  roll  pills,  and  administer  ju 
leps  for  a living  — ’t  was  monstrous  ! He  told 
Dolph  never  to  despair,  but  to  44  throw  physic  to 
the  dogs  ” ; for  a young  fellow  of  his  prodigious 
talents  could  never  fail  to  make  his  way.  44  As 
you  seem  to  have  no  acquaintance  in  Albany,” 
^said  Heer  Antony,  “you  shall  go  home  with  me, 
and  remain  under  my  roof  until  you  can  look 
about  you  ; and  in  the  mean  time  we  can  take  an 
occasional  bout  at  shooting  and  fishing,  for  itds  a 
pity  that  such  talents  should  lie  idle.” 

Dolph,  who  was  at  the  mercy  of  chance,  was 
not  hard  to  be  persuaded.  Indeed,  on  turning 
over  matters  in  his  mind,  which  he  did  very 
sagely  and  deliberately,  he  could  not  but  think 
that  Antony  Vander  Hey  den  was,  44  somehow  or 
other,”  connected  with  the  story  of  the  Haunted 
House ; that  the  misadventure  in  the  highlands, 
which  had  thrown  them  so  strangely  together, 
was,  44  somehow  or  other,”  to  work  out  something 
good : in  short,  there  is  nothing  so  convenient  as 
this  44  somehow-or-other  ” way  of  accommodating 
one’s  self  to  circumstances  ; it  is  the  main  stay 
of  a heedless  actor,  and  tardy  reasoner,  like  Dolph 
Heyliger;  and  he  who  can,  in  this  loose,  easy 
way,  link  foregone  evil  to  anticipated  good,  pos- 
sesses a secret  of  happiness  almost  equal  to  the 
philosopher’s  stone. 

On  their  arrival  at  Albany,  the  sight  of  Dolph’s 
companion  seemed  to  cause  universal  satisfaction. 
Many  were  the  greetings  at  the  river-side,  and  the 
salutations  in  the  * streets  ; the  dogs  bounded  be- 
fore him  ; the  boys  vvhoc  ped  as  he  passed ; every- 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER. 


500 


body  seemed  to  know  Antony  Vander  Hey  den. 
Dolph  followed  on  in  silence,  admiring  the  neat- 
ness of  this  worthy  burgh  ; for  in  those  days  Al- 
bany was  in  all  its  glory,  and  inhabited  almost  ex- 
clusively by  the  descendants  of  the  original  Dutch 
settlers,  not  having  as  yet  been  discovered  and 
colonized  by  the  restless  people  of  New  England. 
Everything  was  quiet  and  orderly ; everything 
was  conducted  calmly  and  leisurely ; no  hurry, 
no  bustle,  no  struof^lino*  and  scrambling  for  exist- 
ence.  The  grass  grew  about  the  unpaved  streets, 
and  relieved  the  eye  by  its  refreshing  verdure. 
Tall  sycamores  or  pendent  willows  shaded  the 
houses,  with  caterpillars  swinging,  in  long  silken 
strings,  from  their  branches  ; or  moths,  fluttering 
about  like  coxcombs,  in  joy  at  their  gay  transfor- 
mation. The  houses  were  built  in  the  old  Dutch 
style,  with  the  gable-ends  towards  the  street.  The 
thrifty  housewife  was  seated  on  a bench  before 
her  door,  in  close-crimped  cap,  bright-flowered 
gown,  and  white  apron,  busily  employed  in  knit- 
ting. The  husband  smoked  his  pipe  on  the  oppo- 
site bench ; and  the  little  pet  negro  girl,  seated  on 
the  step  at  her  mistress’s  feet,  was  industriously 
plying  her  needle.  The  swallows  sported  about  the 
eaves,  or  skimmed  along  the  streets,  and  brought 
back  some  rich  booty  for  their  clamorous  young  ; 
and  the  little  housekeeping  wren  flew  in  and  out  of 
a Liliputian  house,  or  an  old  hat  nailed  against 
the  wall.  The  cows  were  coming  home,  lowing 
through  the  streets,  to  be  milked  at  their  owners 
loor  ; and  if,  perchance,  there  were  any  loiterers, 
some  negro  urchin,  with  a long  goad,  was  gently 
urging  them  homewards. 


504 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL. 


As  Dolph’s  companion  passed  on,  he  received 
a tranquil  nod  from  the  burghers,  and  a friendly 
word  from  their  wives ; all  calling  him  familiarly 
by  the  name  of  Antony  ; for  it  was  the  custom 
in  this  stronghold  of  the  patriarchs,  where  they 
had  all  grown  up  together  from  childhood,  to  call 
each  other  by  the  Christian  name.  The  Heer 
did  not  pause  to  have  his  usual  jokes  with  them, 
for  he  was  impatient  to  reach  his  home.  At 
length  they  arrived  at  his  mansion.  It  was  of 
some  magnitude,  in  the  Dutch  style,  with  large 
iron  figures  on  the  gables,  that  gave  the  date  of 
its  erection,  and  showed  that  it  had  been  built  in 
the  earliest  times  of  the  settlement. 

The  news  of  Heer  Antony’s  arrival  had  pre- 
ceded him,  and  the  whole  household  was  on  the 
look-out.  A crew  of  negroes,  large  and  small, 
had  collected  in  front  of  the  house  to  receive  him. 
The  old,  white-headed  ones,  who  had  grown  gray 
in  his  service,  grinned  for  joy,  and  made  many 
awkward  bows  and  grimaces,  and  the  little  ones 
capered  about  his  knees.  But  the  most  happy 
being  in  the  household  was  a little,  plump,  bloom- 
ing lass,  his  only  child,  and  the  darling  of  his 
heart.  She  came  bounding  out  of  the  house  ; 
out  the  sight  of  a strange  young  man  with  her 
father  called  up,  for  a moment,  all  the  bashfulness 
of  a homebred  damsel.  Dolph  gazed  at  her  with 
wonder  and  delight ; never  had  he  seen,  as  he 
thought,  anything  so  comely  in  the  shape  of  a 
woman.  She  was  dressed  in  the  good  old  Dutch 
taste,  with  long  stays,  and  full,  short  petticoats, 
so  admirably  adapted  to  show  and  set  off  the  fe* 


DOLPU  HEYLIGER. 


505 


male  form.  Her  hair,  turned  up  under  a small 
round  cap,  displayed  the  fairness  of  her  forehead : 
she  had  fine,  blue,  laughing  eyes,  a trim,  sltnder 
waist,  and  soft  swell — but,  in  a word,  she  was 
a little  Dutch  divinity  ; and  Dolph,  who  never 
stopped  half-way  in  a new  impulse,  fell  desperately 
in  love  with  her. 

Dolph  was  now  ushered  into  the  house  with  a 
hearty  welcome.  In  the  interior  was  a mingled 
display  of  Heer  Antony’s  taste  and  habits,  and 
of  the  opulence  of  his  predecessors.  The  cham- 
bers were  furnished  with  good  old  mahogany ; 
the  beaufets  and  cupboards  glittered  with  embossed 
silver  and  painted  china.  Over  the  parlor  fireplace 
was,  as  usual,  the  family  coat  of  arms,  painted  and 
framed ; above  which  was  a long  duck  fowling- 
piece,  flanked  by  an  Indian  pouch,  and  a powder- 
horn.  The  room  was  decorated  with  many  In- 
dian articles,  such  as  pipes  of  peace,  tomahawks, 
scalping-knives,  hunting-pouches,  and  belts  of 
wampum  ; and  there  were  various  kinds  of  fishing- 
tackle,  and  two  or  three  fowling-pieces  in  the 
corners.  The  household  affairs  seemed  to  be 
conducted,  in  some  measure,  after  the  master’s 
humors  ; corrected,  perhaps,  by  a little  quiet 
management  of  the  daughter’s.  There  was  a 
great  degree  of  patriarchal  simplicity,  and  good- 
humored  indulgence.  The  negroes  came  into  the 
room  without  being  called,  merely  to  look  at 
their  master,  and  hear  of  his  adventures ; they 
would  stand  listening  at  the  door  until  he  had 
finished  a story,  and  then  go  off  on  a broad  grin, 

repeat  it  in  the  kitchen.  A couple  of  pet  negro 


506 


BRACEBRIDGE  IIALL. 


children  were  playing  about  the  floor  with  the 
dogs,  and  sharing  with  them  their  bread  and  but- 
ter. All  the  domestics  looked  hearty  and  happy ; 
and  when  the  table  was  set  for  the  evening  re- 
past, the  variety  and  abundance  of  good  house- 
hold luxuries  bore  testimony  to  the  open-handed 
liberality  of  the  Heer,  and  the  notable  housewifery 
of  his  daughter. 

In  the  evening  there  dropped  in  several  of  the 
worthies  of  the  place,  the  Van  Renssellaers,  and 
the  Gansevoorts,  and  the  Rosebooms,  and  others 
of  Antony  Vander  Heyden’s  intimates,  to  hear 
an  account  of  his  expedition ; for  he  was  the 
Sinbad  of  Albany,  and  his  exploits  and  adventures 
were  favorite  topics  of  conversation  among  the 
inhabitants.  While  these  sat  gossiping  together 
about  the  door  of  the  hall,  and  telling  long  twi- 
light stories,  Dolpli  was  cosily  seated,  entertaining 
the  daughter,  on  a window-bench.  He  had  al- 
ready got  on  intimate  terms ; for  those  were  not 
times  of  false  reserve  and  idle  ceremony ; and, 
besides,  there  is  something  wonderfully  propitious 
to  a lover’s  suit  in  the  delightful  dusk  of  a long 
summer  evening  ; it  gives  courage  to  the  most 
timid  tongue,  and  hides  the  blushes  of  the  bash- 
ful. The  stars  alone  twinkled  brightly  ; and  now 
and  then  a fire-fly  streamed  his  transient  light  be- 
fore the  window,  or,  wandering  into  the  room, 
flew  gleaming  about  the  ceiling. 

What  Dolph  whispered  in  her  ear  that  long 
summer  evening,  it  is  impossible  to  say ; his 
words  ’were  so  low  and  indistinct,  that  they  never 
reached  the  ear  of  the  historian.  It  is  probable, 


DOLPH  HE  YLJGER. 


507 


however,  that  they  were  to  the  purpose  ; for  he 
had  a natural  talent  at  pleasing  the  sex,  and  was 
never  long  in  company  with  a petticoat  without 
paying  proper  court  to  it.  In  the  mean  time  the 
visitors,  one  by  one,  departed ; Antony  Vander 
Heyden,  who  had  fairly  talked  himself  silent,  sat 
nodding  alone  in  his  chair  by  the  door,  when  he 
was  suddenly  aroused  by  a hearty  salute  with 
which  Dolph  Heyiiger  had  unguardedly  rounded 
off  one  of  his  periods,  and  which  echoed  through 
the  still  chamber  like  the  report  of  a pistol.  The 
Heer  started  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  called  for  lights, 
and  observed  that  it  was  high  time  to  go  to  bed ; 
though,  on  parting  for  the  night,  he  squeezed 
Dolph  heartily  by  the  hand,  looked  kindly  in  his 
face,  and  shook  his  head  knowingly  ; for  the  Heer 
well  remembered  what  he  himself  had  been  at  the 
youngster’s  age. 

The  chamber  in  which  our  hero  was  lodged 
was  spacious,  and  panelled  with  oak.  It  was  fur- 
nished with  clothes-presses,  and  mighty  chests  of 
drawers,  well  waxed,  and  glittering  with  brass 
ornaments.  These  contained  ample  stock  of  fam- 
ily linen ; for  the  Dutch  housewives  had  always 
a laudable  pride  in  showing  off  their  household 
treasures  to  strangers. 

Dolph’s  mind,  however,  was  too  full  to  take  par- 
ticular note  of  the  objects  around  him  ; yet  lie 
eould  not  help  continually  comparing  the  free 
open  - hearted  cheeriness  of  this  establishment 
with  the  starveling,  sordid,  joyless  housekeep- 
ing at  Doctor  Knipperhauservs.  Still  something 
marred  tin  enjoyment:  the  idea  that  he  must 


508 


BRA  CEBRIDG  E HALL. 


take  leave  of  his  hearty  host,  and  pretty  hostess, 
and  cast  himself  once  more  adrift  upon  the  world. 
To  linger  here  would  be  folly : he  should  only 
get  deeper  in  love ; and  for  a poor  varlet,  like 
himself,  to  aspire  to  the  daughter  of  the  great 
I leer  Vander  Heyden — it  was  madness  to  think 
of  such  a thing!  The  very  kindness  that  the 
girl  had  shown  towards  him  prompted  him,  on  re- 
flection, to  hasten  his  departure  ; it  would  be  a 
poor  return  for  the  frank  hospitality  of  his  host  to 
entangle  his  daughter’s  heart  in  an  injudicious  at- 
tachment. In  a word,  Dolph  was  like  many 
other  young  reasoners  of  exceeding  good  hearts 
and  giddy  heads,  — who  think  after  they  act,  and 
act  differently  from  what  they  think,  — who  make 
excellent  determinations  overnight,  and  forget  to 
keep  them  the  next  morning. 

“ This  is  a fine  conclusion,  truly,  of  my  voy- 
age,” said  he,  as  he  almost  buried  himself  in  a 
sumptuous  feather-bed,  and  drew  the  fresh  white 
sheets  up  to  his  chin.  “ Here  am  1,  instead  of 
finding  a bag  of  money  to  earry  home,  launched 
in  a strange  place,  with  scarcely  a stiver  in  my 
pocket ; and,  what  is  worse,  have  jumped  ashore 
up  to  my  very  ears  in  love  into  the  bargain. 
However,”  added  he,  after  some  pause,  stretching 
himself,  and  turning  himself  in  bed,  “ I ’m  in  good 
quarters  for  the  present,  at  least ; so  I’ll  e’en  enjoy 
the  present  moment,  and  let  the  next  take  care 
of  itself ; I dare  say  all  will  work  out,  4 some- 
how or  other,’  for  the  best.” 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  reached  out  his 
hand  to  extinguish  the  candle,  when  he  was  sud- 


1)  ULiJ II  I1EYLIGER. 


509 


denly  struck  with  astonishment  and  dismay,  foi 
he  thought  he  beheld  the  phantom  of  the  haunted 
house,  staring  on  him  from  a dusky  part  of  the 
chamber.  A second  look  reassured  him,  as  he 
perceived  that  what  he  had  taken  for  the  spectre 
was,  in  fact,  nothing  but  a Flemish  portrait,  hang- 
ing in  a shadowy  corner,  just  behind  a clothes- 
press.  It  was,  however,  the  precise  representa- 
tion of  his  nightly  visitor.  The  same  cloak  and 
belted  jerkin,  the  same  grizzled  beard  and  fixed 
eye,  the  same  broad  slouched  hat,  with  a feather 
hanging  over  one  side.  Dolph  now  called  to  mind 
the  resemblance  he  had  frequently  remarked  be- 
tween his  host  and  the  old  man  of  the  haunted 
house  ; and  was  fully  convinced  they  were  in 
some  way  connected,  and  that  some  especial  des- 
tiny had  governed  his  voyage.  He  lay  gazing  on 
the  portrait  with  almost  as  much  awe  as  he  had 
gazed  on  the  ghostly  original,  until  the  shrill 
house-clock  warned  him  of  the  lateness  of  the 
hour.  He  put  out  the  light ; but  remained  for 
a long  time  turning  over  these  curious  circum- 
stances  and  coincidences  in  his  mind,  until  he  fell 
asleep.  His  dreams  partook  of  the  nature  of  his 
waking  thoughts.  He  fancied  that  he  still  lay 
gazing  on  the  picture,  until,  by  degrees,  it  became 
animated  ; that  the  figure  descended  from  the 
wall,  and  walked  out  of  the  room  ; that  he  fol- 
lowed it,  and  found  himself  by  the  well  to  which 
the  old  man  pointed,  smiled  on  him,  and  disap- 
peared. 

In  the  morning,  when  he  waked,  he  found  his 
host  stan  ling  by  his  bedside,  who  gave  him  a 


510 


BRA  CEBRIDGhj  BALL. 


hearty  morning’s  salutation,  and  asked  him  how 
he  had  slept.  Dolph  answered  cheerily  ; but  took 
occasion  to  inquire  about  the  portrait  that  hung 
against  the  wall.  “ Ah,”  said  Heer  Antony, 
k<  that ’s  a portrait  of  old  Killian  Vander  Spiegel, 
once  a burgomaster  of  Amsterdam,  who,  on  some 
popular  troubles,  abandoned  Holland,  and  came 
over  to  the  province  during  the  government  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  He  was  my  ancestor  by  the 
mother’s  side,  and  an  old  miserly  curmudgeon  he 
was.  When  the  English  took  possession  of  New 
Amsterdam,  in  1664,  he  retired  into  the  country. 
He  fell  into  a melancholy,  apprehending  that  his 
wealth  would  be  taken  from  him  and  he  come  to 
beggary.  He  turned  all  his  property  into  cash, 
and  used  to  hide  it  away.  He  was  for  a year  or 
two  concealed  in  various  places,  fancying  himself 
sought  after  by  the  English,  to  strip  him  of  his 
wealth  ; and  finally  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed 
one  morning,  without  any  one  being  able  to  dis- 
cover where  he  had  concealed  the  greater  part  of 
his  money.” 

When  his  host  had  left  the  room,  Dolph  re- 
mained for  some  time  lost  in  thought.  His  whole 
mind  was  occupied  by  what  he  had  heard.  Van- 
der Spiegel  was  his  mother’s  family  name  ; and 
he  recollected  to  have  heard  her  speak  of  this 
very  Killian  Vander  Spiegel  as  one  of  her  ances- 
tors. He  had  heard  her  say,  too,  that  her  father 
was  Killian’s  rightful  heir,  only  that  the  old  man 
died  without  leaving  anything  to  be  inherited. 
It  now  appeared  that  Heer  Antony  was  likewise 
a descendant,  and  perhaps  an  heir  also,  of  this 


D0LPI1  HEYL1GER. 


511 


poor  rich  man  ; and  that  thus  the  Heyligers  and 
the  Vander  Hey  dens  were  remotely  connected. 
“ What,”  thought  he,  “ if,  after  all,  this  is  the  in- 
terpretation of  my  dream,  that  this  is  the  way  I 
am  to  make  my  fortune  by  this  voyage  to  Albany, 
and  that  I am  to  find  the  old  man’s  hidden  wealth 
in  the  bottom  of  that  well  ? But  what  an  odd 
roundabout  mode  of  communicating  the  matter  ! 
Why  the  plague  could  not  the  old  goblin  have 
told  me  about  the  well  at  once,  without  sending 
me  all  the  way  to  Albany,  to  hear  a story  that 
was  to  send  me  all  the  way  back  again  ? ” 

These  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  while 
he  was  dressing.  He  descended  the  stairs,  full 
of  perplexity,  when  the  bright  face  of  Marie  Van- 
der Heyden  suddenly  beamed  in  smiles  upon  him, 
and  seemed  to  give  him  a clue  to  the  whole 
mystery.  “ After  all,”  thought  he,  “ the  old  gob- 
lin is  in  the  right.  If  I am  to  get  his  wealth,  he 
means  that  I shall  marry  his  pretty  descendant ; 
thus  both  branches  of  the  family  will  again  be 
united,  and  the  property  go  on  in  the  proper 
channel.” 

No  sooner  did  this  idea  enter  his  head,  than  it 
carried  conviction  with  it.  He  was  now  all  im- 
patience to  hurry  back  and  secure  the  treasure, 
which,  he  did  not  doubt,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the 
well,  and  which  he  feared  every  moment  might  be 
discovered  by  some  other  person.  “ Who  knows,” 
thought  he,  “ but  this  night-walking  old  fellow  of 
the  haunted  house  may  be  in  the  habit  of  haunt- 
ing every  visitor,  and  may  give  a hint  to  some 
shrewder  felkw  than  myself,  who  will  take  a 


512 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


shorter  cut  to  the  well  than  by  the  way  of  A1 
bany  ? ” He  wished  a thousand  times  that  the 
babbling  old  ghost  was  laid  in  the  Red  Sea,  and 
his  rambling  portrait  with  him.  He  was  in  a 
perfect  fever  to  depart.  Two  or  three  days 
elapsed  before  any  opportunity  presented  for  re- 
turning down  the  river.  They  were  ages  to 
Dolph,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  basking  in 
the  smiles  of  the  pretty  Marie,  and  daily  getting 
more  and  more  enamored. 

At  length  the  very  sloop  from  which  he  had 
been  knocked  overboard  prepared  to  make  sail. 
Dolph  made  an  awkward  apology  to  his  host  for 
his  sudden  departure.  Antony  Vander  Heyden 
was  sorely  astonished.  He  had  concerted  half  a 
dozen  excursions  into  the  wilderness ; and  his 
Indians  were  actually  preparing  for  a grand  expe- 
dition to  one  of  the  lakes.  He  took  Dolph  aside, 
and  exerted  his  eloquence  to  get  him  to  abandon 
all  thoughts  of  business  and  to  remain  with  him, 
but  in  vain ; and  he  at  length  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt, observing,  “ that  it  was  a thousand  pities 
so  fine  a young  man  should  throw  himself  away.” 
Heer  Antony,  however,  gave  him  a hearty  shake 
by  the  hand  at  parting,  with  a favorite  fowling- 
piece,  and  an  invitation  to  come  to  his  house  when- 
ever he  revisited  Albany.  The  pretty  little  Marie 
said  nothing ; but  as  he  gave  her  a farewell  kiss, 
her  dimpled  cheek  turned  pale,  and  a tear  stood 
in  her  eye. 

Dolph  sprang  lightly  on  board  of  the  vessel. 
They  hoisted  sail ; the  wind  was  fair ; they  soon 
lost  sight  of  Albany,  its  green  hills  and  embow- 


VOL, PH  HEYLIGER. 


513 


ered  islands.  They  were  wafted  gayly  past  the 
Kaatskill  Mountains,  whose  fairy  heights  were 
bright  and  cloudless.  They  passed  prosperously 
through  the  highlands,  without  any  molestation 
from  the  Dunderberg  goblin  and  his  crew  ; they 
swept  on  across  Haverstraw  Bay,  and  by  Croton 
Point,  and  through  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  under 
the  Palisadoes,  until,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  third 
day,  they  saw  the  promontory  of  Hoboken  hang- 
ing like  a cloud  in  the  air ; and,  shortly  after,  the 
roofs  of  the  Manhattoes  rising  out  of  the  water. 

Dolph’s  first  care  was  to  repair  to  his  mother’s 
house ; for  he  was  continually  goaded  by  the  idea 
of  the  uneasiness  she  must  experience  on  his  ac- 
count. He  was  puzzling  his  brains,  as  he  went 
along,  to  think  how  he  should  account  for  his  ab- 
sence without  betraying  the  secrets  of  the  haunted 
house.  In  the  midst  of  these  cogitations  he  en- 
tered the  street  in  which  his  mother’s  house  was 
situated,  when  he  was  thunderstruck  at  beholding 
it  a heap  of  ruins. 

There  had  evidently  been  a great  fire,  which 
had  destroyed  several  large  houses,  and  the  hum- 
ble dwelling  of  poor  Dame  Heyliger  had  been 
involved  in  the  conflagration.  The  walls  were 
not  so  completely  destroyed,  but  that  Dolph  could 
distinguish  some  traces  of  the  scene  of  his  child- 
hood. The  fireplace,  about  which  he  had  often 
played,  still  remained,  ornamented  with  Dutch 
tiles,  illustrating  passages  in  Bible  history,  on 
which  he  had  many  a time  gazed  with  admiration. 
Among  the  rubbish  lay  the  wreck  of  the  good 
dame’s  elbow-chair,  from  which  she  had  given  him 
33 


514 


BRA CEBR  IDG E HALL 


bo  many  a wholesome  precept ; and  hard  by  it 
was  the  family  Bible,  with  brass  clasps;  now, 
alas ! reduced  almost  to  a cinder. 

For  a moment  Dolph  was  overcome  by  this 
dismal  sight,  for  he  was  seized  with  the  fear  that 
his  mother  had  perished  in  the  flames.  He  was 
relieved,  however,  from  this  horrible  apprehen- 
sion by  one  of  the  neighbors,  who  happened  to 
come  by  and  informed  him  that  his  mother  was 
yet  alive. 

The  good  woman  had,  indeed,  lost  everything 
by  this  unlooked-for  calamity  ; for  the  populace 
had  been  so  intent  upon  saving  the  fine  furniture 
of  her  rich  neighbors,  that  the  little  tenement, 
and  the  little  all  of  poor  Dame  Heyliger,  had 
been  suffered  to  consume  without  interruption  ; 
nay,  had  it  not  been  for  the  gallant  assistance  of 
her  old  crony,  Peter  de  Groodt,  the  worthy  dame 
and  her  cat  might  have  shared  the  fate  of  their 
habitation. 

As  it  was,  she  had  been  overcome  with  fright 
and  affliction,  and  lay  ill  in  body  and  sick  at  heart. 
The  public,  however,  had  showed  her  its  wonted 
kindness.  The  furniture  of  her  rich  neighbors 
being,  as  far  as  possible,  rescued  from  the  flames  ; 
themselves  duly  and  ceremoniously  visited  and 
condoled  with  on  the  injury  of  their  property,  and 
their  ladies  commiserated  on  the  agitation  of 
their  nerves  ; the  public,  at  length,  began  to 
recollect  something  about  poor  Dame  Heyliger. 
She  forthwith  became  again  a subject  of  univer- 
sal sympathy  ; everybody  pitied  her  more  than 
ever ; and  if  pity  could  but  have  been  coined 


DOLPH  HEYL1GER. 


515 


into  cash  — good  Lord  ! how  rich  she  would  have 
been  ! 

It  was  now  determined,  in  good  earnest,  that 
something  ought  to  be  done  for  her  without  delay 
The  Dominie,  therefore,  put  up  prayers  for  liei 
on  Sunday,  in  which  all  the  congregation  joined 
most  heartily.  Even  Cobus  Groesbeek,  the  al* 
derman,  and  Mynheer  Milledollar,  the  great 
Dutch  merchant,  stood  up  in  their  pews,  and  did 
not  spare  their  voices  on  the  occasion  ; and  it  was 
thought  the  prayers  of  such  great  men  could  not 
but  have  their  due  weight.  Doctor  Knipperhau- 
sen,  too,  visited  her  professionally,  and  gave  her 
abundance  of  advice  gratis,  and  was  universally 
lauded  for  his  charity.  As  to  her  old  friend, 
Peter  de  Groodt,  he  was  a poor  man,  whose  pity, 
and  prayers,  and  advice  could  be  of  but  little 
avail,  so  he  gave  her  all  that  was  in  his  power  — 
he  gave  her  shelter. 

To  the  humble  dwelling  of  Peter  de  Groodt, 
then,  did  Dolph  turn  his  steps.  On  his  way 
thither  he  recalled  all  the  tenderness  and  kind- 
ness of  his  simple-hearted  parent,  her  indulgence 
of  his  errors,  her  blindness  to  his  faults ; and  then 
he  bethought  himself  of  his  own  idle,  harum- 
scarum  life.  “I’ve  been  a sad  scapegrace,”  said 
Dolph,  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully.  “ I ’ve  been 
a complete  sink-pocket,  that ’s  the  truth  of  it.  — 
But,”  added  he  briskly,  and  clasping  his  hands, 
‘ only  let  her  live  — only  let  her  live  — and  I ’ll 
show  myself  indeed  a son  ! ” 

As  Dolph  approached  the  house  he  met  Peter 
de  Groodt  coming  out  of  it.  The  old  man  started 


516 


BRA  CEBR1DGE  HALL. 


back  aghast,  doubting  whether  it  was  not  a ghost 
that  stood  before  him.  It  being  bright  daylight, 
however,  Peter  soon  plucked  up  heart,  satisfied 
that  no  ghost  dare  show  his  face  in  such  clear 
sunshine.  Dolph  now  learned  from  the  worthy 
sexton  the  consternation  and  rumor  to  which  his 
mysterious  disappearance  had  given  rise.  It  had 
been  universally  believed  that  he  had  been  spir- 
ited away  by  those  hobgoblin  gentry  that  in- 
fested the  haunted  house ; and  old  Abraham 
Vandozer,  who  lived  by  the  great  buttonwood- 
trees,  near  the  three-mile  stone,  affirmed,  that  he 
had  heard  a terrible  noise  in  the  air,  as  he  was 
going  home  late  at  night,  which  seemed  just  as 
if  a flock  of  wild  geese  were  overhead,  passing 
off  towards  the  northward.  The  haunted  house 
was,  in  consequence,  looked  upon  with  ten  times 
more  awe  than  ever;  nobody  would  venture  to 
pass  a night  in  it  for  the  world,  and  even  the 
doctor  had  ceased  to  make  his  expeditions  to  it  in 
the  daytime. 

It  required  some  preparation  before  Dolph’s 
return  could  be  made  known  to  his  mother,  the 
poor  soul  having  bewailed  him  as  lost ; and  her 
spirits  having  been  sorely  broken  down  by  a 
number  of  comforters,  who  daily  cheered  her  with 
stories  of  ghosts,  and  of  people  carried  away  by 
the  devil.  He  found  her  confined  to  her  bed, 
with  the  other  member  of  the  Heyliger  family, 
the  good  dame’s  cat,  purring  beside  her,  but  sadly 
Binged,  and  utterly  despoiled  of  those  whiskers 
which  were  the  glory  of  her  physiognomy.  The 
poor  woman  threw'  liei'  arms  about  Dolph’s  neck . 


D0LPI1  I1EYLIGER. 


517 


‘ My  bey  ray  boy  ! art  thou  still  alive  ? ” For 
a time  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  her  losses 
and  troubles  in  her  joy  at  his  return.  Even  the 
sage  grimalkin  showed  indubitable  signs  of  joy  at 
the  return  of  the  youngster.  She  saw,  perhaps, 
that  they  were  a forlorn  and  undone  family,  and 
felt  a touch  of  that  kindliness  which  fellow-suffer- 
ers only  know.  But,  in  truth,  cats  are  a slan- 
dered people;  they  have  more  affection  in  them 
than  the  world  commonly  gives  them  credit  for. 

The  good  dame’s  eyes  glistened  as  she  saw 
one  being  at  least,  beside  herself,  rejoiced  at 
her  son’s  return.  “ Tib  knows  thee  ! poor  dumb 
beast  ! ” said  she,  smoothing  down  the  mottled 
coat  of  her  favorite  ; then  recollecting  herself, 
with  a melancholy  shake  of  the  head,  “ Ah,  my 
poor  Dolph  ! ” exclaimed  she,  u thy  mother  can 
help  thee  no  longer  ! She  can  no  longer  help 
herself!  What  will  become  of  thee,  my  poor 
boy  ! ” 

“ Mother,”  said  Dolph,  “ don’t  talk  in  that 
strain ; I ’ve  been  too  long  a charge  upon  you  ; 
it ’s  now  my  part  to  take  care  of  you  in  your  old 
days.  Come  ! be  of  good  cheer ! you,  and  I, 
and  Tib  will  all  see  better  days.  I ’m  here,  you 
see,  young,  and  sound,  and  hearty  ; then  don’t  let 
us  despair  ; I dare  say  things  will  all,  somehow 
or  other,  turn  out  for  the  best.” 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  with  the  Hey- 
liger  family,  the  news  was  carried  to  Doctor 
Knipperhausen  of  the  safe  return  of  his  disciple. 
The  little  doctor  scarce  knew  whether  to  rejoice 
or  be  sorry  at  the  tidings.  He  was  happy  at 


518 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALT,. 


having  the  foul  reports  which  had  prevailed  con- 
cerning his  country  mansion  thus  disproved  ; but 
he  grieved  at  having  his  disciple,  of  whom  he  had 
supposed  himself  fairly  disencumbered,  thus  drift 
ing  back,  a heavy  charge  upon  his  hands.  While 
balancing  between  these  two  feelings,  he  was  de- 
termined by  the  counsels  of  Frau  Ilsy,  who  ad- 
vised him  to  take  advantage  of  the  truant  absence 
of  the  youngster,  and  shut  the  door  upon  him  for- 
ever. 

At  the  hour  of  bedtime,  therefore,  when  it  was 
supposed  the  recreant  disciple  would  seek  his  old 
quarters,  everything  was  prepared  for  his  recep- 
tion. Dolph,  having  talked  his  mother  into  a 
state  of  tranquillity,  sought  the  mansion  of  his 
quondam  master,  and  raised  the  knocker  with  a 
faltering  hand.  Scarcely,  however,  had  it  given 
a dubious  rap,  when  the  doctor’s  head,  in  a red 
nightcap,  popped  out  of  one  window,  and  the 
housekeeper’s,  in  a white  nightcap,  out  of  another. 
He  was  now  greeted  with  a tremendous  volley  of 
hard  names  and  hard  language,  mingled  with  in- 
valuable pieces  of  advice,  such  as  are  seldom  ven- 
tured to  be  given  excepting  to  a friend  in  distress, 
or  a culprit  at  the  bar.  In  a few  moments,  not  a 
window  in  the  street  but  had  its  particular  night- 
cap, listening  to  the  shrill  treble  of  Frau  Ilsy,  and 
the  guttural  croaking  of  Dr.  Knipperhausen ; and 
the  word  went  from  window  to  window,  “ Ah  ! 
here ’s  Dolph  Heyliger  come  back,  and  at  his  old 
pranks  again.”  In  short,  poor  Dolph  found  he  was 
likely  to  get  nothing  from  the  doctor  but  good 
advice  ; a commodity  so  abundant  as  even  to  be 


DOLPH  HEYLICiER. 


519 


thrown  ou  t of  the  window  ; so  he  was  fain  to  beat 
a retreat,  and  take  up  his  quarters  for  the  night 
under  the  lowly  roof  of  honest  Peter  de  Groodt. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  Dolpli 
was  out  at  the  haunted  house.  Everything  looked 
just  as  he  had  left  it.  The  fields  were  grass- 
grown  and  matted,  and  appeared  as  if  nobody  had 
traversed  them  since  his  departure.  With  palpi- 
tating heart  he  hastened  to  the  well.  He  looked 
down  into  it,  and  saw  that  it  was  of  great  depth, 
with  water  at  the  bottom.  He  had  provided 
himself  with  a strong  line,  such  as  the  fisher- 
men use  on  the  banks  of  Newfoundland.  At  the 
end  was  a heavy  plummet  and  a large  fish-hook. 
With  this  he  began  to  sound  the  bottom  of  the 
well,  and  to  angle  about  in  the  water.  The  water 
was  of  some  depth ; there  was  also  much  rubbish, 
stones  from  the  top  having  fallen  in.  Several 
times  his  hook  got  entangled,  and  lie  came  near 
breaking  his  line.  Now  and  then,  too,  he  hauled 
up  mere  trash,  such  as  the  skull  of  a horse,  an 
iron  hoop,  and  a shattered  iron-bound  bucket.  Hp 
had  now  been  several  hours  employed  without 
finding  anything  to  repay  his  trouble,  or  to  encour- 
age him  to  proceed.  He  began  to  think  himself  a 
great  fool,  to  be  thus  decoyed  into  a wild-goose 
chase  by  mere  dreams,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
throwing  line  and  all  into  the  well,  and  giving  up 
all  further  angling. 

“ One  more  cast  of  the  line,”  said  he,  “ and 
that  shall  be  the  last.”  As  he  sounded,  he  felt 
the  plummet  slip,  as  it  were,  through  the  inter- 
stices of  loose  stones  ; and  as  he  drew  back  the 


520 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  HALL 


lino,  he  felt  that  the  hook  had  taken  hold  of  some- 
thing heavy.  He  had  to  manage  his  line  with 
great  caution,  lest  it  should  be  broken  by  the 
strain  upon  it.  By  degrees  the  rubbish  which 
lay  upon  the  article  he  had  hooked  gave  way ; 
he  drew  it  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  what 
was  his  rapture  at  seeing  something  like  silver 
glittering  at  the  end  of  his  line  ! Almost  breath- 
less with  anxiety,  he  drew  it  up  to  the  mouth  of 
the  well,  surprised  at  its  great  weight,  and  fear- 
ing every  instant  that  his  hook  would  slip  from 
its  hold,  and  his  prize  tumble  again  to  the  bottom. 
At  length  he  landed  it  safe  beside  the  well.  It 
was  a great  silver  porringer,  of  an  ancient  form, 
richly  embossed,  and  with  armorial  bearings  en- 
graved on  its  side,  similar  to  those  over  his  moth- 
er’s mantelpiece.  The  lid  was  fastened  down  by 
several  twists  of  wire  ; Dolph  loosened  them  with 
a trembling  hand,  and,  on  lifting  the  lid,  behold  ! 
the  vessel  was  filled  with  broad  golden  pieces,  of  a 
coinage  which  he  had  never  seen  before  ! It  was 
evident  he  had  lit  on  the  place  where  Killian 
Vander  Spiegel  had  concealed  his  treasure. 

Fearful  of  being  seen  by  some  straggler,  he 
cautiously  retired,  and  buried  his  pot  of  money  in 
a secret  place.  He  now  spread  terrible  stories 
about  the  haunted  house,  and  deterred  every  one 
from  approaching  it,  while  he  made  frequent  visits 
to  it  in  stormy  days,  when  no  one  was  stirring  in 
the  neighboring  fields  ; though,  to  tell  the  truth, 
he  did  not  care  to  venture  there  in  the  dark. 
For  once  in  his  life  he  was  diligent  and  industri- 
ous, and  followed  up  his  new  trade  of  angling 


DOLPFI  HEYj.IGER. 


521 


tvith  such  perseverance  and  success,  that  in  a lit- 
tle while  he  had  hooked  up  wealth  enough  to 
make  him,  in  those  moderate  days,  a rich  burgher 
for  life. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  detail  minutely  the  rest 
of  this  story.  To  tell  how  he  gradually  managed 
to  bring  his  property  into  use  without  exciting 
surprise  and  inquiry,  — how  he  satisfied  all  scru- 
ples with  regard  to  retaining  the  property,  and  at 
the  same  time  gratified  his  own  feelings  by  mar- 
rying the  pretty  Marie  Vander  Heyden,  — and 
how  he  and  Heer  Antony  had  many  a merry  and 
'oving  expedition  together. 

I must  not  omit  to  say,  however,  that  Dolph 
took  his  mother  home  to  live  with  him,  and  cher- 
ished her  in  her  old  days.  The  good  dame,  too, 
had  the  satisfaction  of  no  longer  hearing  her  son 
made  the  theme  of  censure ; on  the  contrary,  he 
grew  daily  in  public  esteem  ; everybody  spoke 
well  of  him  and  his  wines  ; and  the  lordliest  bur- 
gomaster was  never  known  to  decline  his  invita- 
tion to  dinner.  Dolph  often  related,  at  his  own 
table,  the  wicked  pranks  which  had  once  been  the 
abhorrence  of  the  town  ; but  they  were  now  con- 
sidered excellent  jokes,  and  the  gravest  dignitary 
was  fain  to  hold  his  sides  when  listening  to  them. 
No  one  was  more  struck  with  Dolph’s  increasing 
merit  than  his  old  master  the  doctor ; and  so  for- 
giving was  Dolph,  that  he  absolutely  employed 
the  doctor  as  his  family  physician,  only  taking 
care  that  his  prescriptions  should  be  always 
thrown  out  of  the  window.  His  mother  had  of- 
ten her  junto  of  old  cronies  to  take  a snug  cup 


522 


BRA  CEBR  ID  G E HALL. 


of  tea  with  her  in  her  comfortable  little  parlor; 
and  Peter  de  Groodt,  as  he  sat  by  the  fireside, 
with  one  of  her  grandchildren  on  his  knee,  would 
many  a time  congratulate  her  upon  her  son  turn- 
ing out  so  great  a man  ; upon  which  the  good 
old  soul  would  wag  her  head  with  exultation,  and 
exclaim,  “ Ah,  neighbor,  neighbor ! did  I not  say 
that  Dolph  would  one  day  or  other  hold  up  his 
head  with  the  best  of  them  ? ” 

Thus  did  Dolph  Heyliger  go  on,  cheerily  and 
prosperously,  growing  merrier  as  he  grew  older 
and  wiser,  and  completely  falsifying  the  old  prov- 
erb about  money  got  over  the  devil’s  back  ; for 
he  made  good  use  of  his  wealth,  and  became  a 
distinguished  citizen,  and  a valuable  member  of 
the  community.  He  was  a great  promoter  of 
public  institutions,  such  as  beef-steak  societies 
and  catch-clubs.  He  presided  at  all  public  din- 
ners, and  was  the  first  that  introduced  turtle  from 
the  West  Indies.  He  improved  the  breed  of 
race-horses  and  game-cocks,  and  was  so  great  a 
patron  of  modest  merit,  that  any  one  who  could 
sing  a good  song,  or  tell  a good  story,  was  sure 
to  find  a place  at  his  table. 

He  was  a member,  too,  of  the  corporation, 
made  several  laws  for  the  protection  of  game  and 
oysters,  and  bequeathed  to  the  board  a large  silver 
punch-bowl,  made  out  of  the  identical  porringer 
before  mentioned,  and  which  is  in  the  possession 
of  the  corporation  to  this  very  day. 

Finally,  he  died,  in  a florid  old  age,  of  an  apo- 
plexy at  a corporation  feast,  and  was  buried  with 
great  honors  in  the  yard  of  the  little  Dutch  church 


D0LP11  HEYLIGER . 


523 


in  Garden  Street,  where  his  tombstone  may  still 
be  seen  with  a modest  epitaph  in  Dutch,  by  his 
friend  Mynheer  Justus  Benson,  an  ancient  and 
excellent  poet  of  the  province. 

The  foregoing  tale  rests  on  better  authority  than 
most  tales  of  the  kind,  as  I have  it  at  second- 
hand from  the  lips  of  Dolph  Heyliger  himself 
lie  never  related  it  till  towards  the  latter  part  of 
his  life,  and  then  in  great  confidence,  (for  he  was 
very  discreet,)  to  a few  of  his  particular  cronies 
at  his  own  table,  over  a supernumerary  bowl  of 
punch ; and,  strange  as  the  hobgoblin  parts  of  the 
story  may  seem,  there  never  was  a single  doubt 
expressed  on  the  subject  by  any  of  his  guests. 
It  may  not  be  amiss,  before  concluding,  to  observe 
that,  in  addition  to  his  other  accomplishments, 
Dolph  Heyliger  was  noted  for  being  the  ablest 
drawer  of  the  long-bow  in  the  whole  province. 


s 


THE  WEDDING. 

No  more,  no  more,  much  honor  aye  betide 
The  lofty  bridegroom,  and  the  lovely  bride ; 
That  all  of  their  succeeding  days  may  say, 

Each  day  appears  like  to  a wedding  day. 

Braithwaite. 


OTWITHSTANDING  the  doubts  and 
the  demurs  of  Lady  Lillycraft,  and  all 
the  grave  objections  conjured  up  against 
the  month  of  May,  the  wedding  has  at  length 
happily  taken  place.  It  was  celebrated  at  the 
village  church,  in  presence  of  a numerous  com- 
pany of  relatives  and  friends,  and  many  of  the 
tenantry.  The  Squire  must  needs  have  some- 
thing of  the  old  ceremonies  observed  on  the  oc- 
casion ; so,  at  the  gate  of  the  church-yard,  several 
little  girls  of  the  village,  dressed  in  white,  Avere 
in  readiness  with  baskets  of  flowers,  which  they 
strewed  before  the  bride  ; and  the  butler  bore  be- 
fore her  the  bride-cup,  a great  silver  embossed 
bowl,  one  of  the  family  relics  from  the  days  of 
the  hard  drinkers.  This  was  filled  with  rich  wine, 
and  decorated  with  a branch  of  rosemary,  tied 
with  gay  ribbons,  according  to  ancient  custom. 

“ Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on,’* 
says  the  old  proverb ; and  it  was  as  sunny  and 


THE  WEDDING . 


525 


auspicious  a morning  as  heart  could  wish.  The 
bride  looked  uncommonly  beautiful ; but,  in  fact, 
what  woman  does  not  look  interesting  on  her 
wedding-day  ? I know  no  sight  more  charming 
and  touching  than  that  of  a young  and  timid  bride, 
in  her  robes  of  virgin  white,  led  up  trembling 
to  the  altar.  When  I thus  behold  a lovely  girl, 
in  the  tenderness  of  her  years,  forsaking  the  house 
of  her  fathers,  and  the  home  of  her  childhood  ; 
and  with  the  implicit  confiding,  and  the  sweet 
self-abandonment,  which  belong  to  woman,  giving 
up  all  the  world  for  the  man  of  her  choice  : when 
I hear  her,  in  the  good  old  language  of  the  ritual, 
yielding  herself  to  him,  “ for  better  for  worse,  for 
richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to 
love,  honor,  and  obey,  till  death  us  do  part,”  it 
brings  to  my  mind  the  beautiful  and  affecting 
self-devotion  of  Ruth : u Whither  thou  goest  I 
will  go,  and  where  thou  lodgest  I will  lodge  ; thy 
people  shall  be  iny  people,  and  thy  God  my 
God” 

The  fair  Julia  was  supported  on  the  trying  oc- 
casion by  Lady  Lillycraft,  whose  heart  was  over- 
flowing with  its  wonted  sympathy  in  all  matters 
of  love  and  matrimony.  As  the  bride  approached 
the  altar,  her  face  would  be  one  moment  covered 
with  blushes,  and  the  next  deadly  pale  ; and  she 
seemed  almost  ready  to  shrink  from  sight  among 
her  female  companions. 

I do  not  know  what  it  is  that  makes  every  one 
serious,  and,  as  it  were,  awe-struck,  at  a marriage 
ceremony  ; which  is  generally  considered  an  occa- 
sion jf  festivity  and  rejoicing.  As  the  ceremony 


526 


B RAC  KB  RID  GU  HALL. 


was  performing,  I observed  many  a rosy  face 
among  the  country-girls  turn,  pale,  and  I did  not 
see  a smile  throughout  the  church.  The  young 
ladies  from  the  Hall  were  almost  as  much  fright- 
ened as  if  it  had  been  their  own  case,  and  stole 
many  a look  of  sympathy  at  their  trembling  com- 
panion. A tear  stood  in  the  eye  of  the  sensitive 
Lady  Lillycraft ; and  as  to  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who 
was  present,  she  absolutely  wept  and  sobbed 
aloud  ; but  it  is  hard  to  tell,  half  the  time,  what 
these  fond  foolish  creatures  are  crying  about. 

The  captain,  too,  though  naturally  gay  and  un- 
concerned, was  much  agitated  on  the  occasion  ; 
and,  in  attempting  to  put  the  ring  upon  the  bride’s 
finger,  dropped  it  on  the  floor ; which  Lady  Lilly- 
craft has  since  assured  me  is  a very  lucky  omen. 
Even  Master  Simon  had  lost  his  usual  vivacity, 
and  assumed  a most  whimsically  solemn  face, 
which  he  is  apt  to  do  on  all  occasions  of  cere- 
mony. He  had  much  whispering  with  the  parson 
and  parish-clerk,  for  he  is  always  a busy  per- 
sonage in  the  scene,  and  he  echoed  the  clerk’s 
amen  with  a solemnity  and  devotion  that  edified 
the  whole  assemblage. 

The  moment,  however,  that  the  ceremony  was 
over,  the  transition  was  magical.  The  bride-cup 
was  passed  round,  according  to  ancient  usage,  for 
the  company  to  drink  to  a happy  union ; every 
one’s  feelings  seemed  to  break  forth  from  restraint. 
Master  Simon  had  a world  of  bachelor  pleasant- 
ries to  utter,  and  as  to  the  gallant  general,  he 
bowed  and  cooed  about  the  dulcet  Lady  Lilly- 
craft like  a mighty  cock-pigeon  about  his  dame. 


THE  WEDDING. 


527 


The  villagers  gathered  in  the  church-yard  to 
cheer  the  happy  couple  as  they  left  the  church  ; 
and  the  musical  tailor  had  marshalled  his  band, 
and  set  up  a hideous  discord,  as  the  blushing  and 
smiling  bride  passed  through  a lane  of  honest 
peasantry  to  her  carriage.  The  children  shouted 
and  threw  up  their  hats  ; the  bells  rang  a merry 
peal  that  set  all  the  crows  and  rooks  hying  and 
cawing  about  the  air,  and  threatened  to  bring 
down  the  battlements  of  the  old  tower  ; and  there 
was  a continual  popping  off  of  rusty  firelocks 
from  every  part  of  the  neighborhood. 

The  prodigal  son  distinguished  himself  on  the 
occasion,  having  hoisted  a flag  on  the  top  of  the 
school-house,  and  kept  the  village  in  a hubbub 
from  sunrise,  with  the  sound  of  drum  and  fife 
and  pandean  pipe  ; in  which  species  of  music 
several  of  his  scholars  are  making  wonderful 
proficiency.  In  his  great  zeal,  however,  he  had 
nearly  done  mischief ; for  on  returning  from 
church,  the  horses  of  the  bride’s  carriage  took 
fright  from  the  discharge  of  a row  of  old  gun-bar- 
rels, which  he  had  mounted  as  a park  of  artillery 
in  front  of  the  school-house  to  give  the  captain  a 
military  salute  as  he  passed. 

The  day  passed  off  with  great  rustic  rejoicing. 
Tables  were  spread  under  the  trees  in  the  park, 
where  all  the  peasantry  of  the  neighborhood  were 
regaled  with  roast-beef  and  plum-pudding,  and 
oceans  of  ale.  Ready-Money  Jack  presided  at 
one  of  the  tables,  and  became  so  full  of  good 
cheer  as  to  unbend  from  his  usual  gravity,  to 
sing  a song  out  of  all  tune,  and  give  two  or  three 


528 


BRACEBIIIDGE  BALL . 


shouts  of  laughter  that  almost  electrified  his 
neighbors  like  so  many  peals  of  thunder.  The 
schoolmaster  and  the  apothecary  vied  with  each 
other  in  making  speeches  over  their  liquor ; and 
there  were  occasional  glees  and  musical  perform- 
ances by  the  village  band,  that  must  have  fright- 
ened every  faun  and  dryad  from  the  park.  Even 
old  Christy,  who  had  got  on  a new  dress  from 
top  to  toe,  and  shone  in  all  the  splendor  of  bright 
leather-breeches,  and  an  enormous  wedding  favor 
in  his  cap,  forgot  his  usual  crustiness,  became  in- 
spired by  wine  and  wassail,  and  absolutely  danced 
a hornpipe  on  one  of  the  tables,  with  all  the  grace 
and  agility  of  a mannikin  hung  upon  wires. 

Equal  gayety  reigned  within  doors,  where  a 
large  party  of  friends  were  entertained.  Every 
one  laughed  at  his  own  pleasantry,  without  at- 
tending to  that  of  his  neighbor’s.  Loads  of  bride- 
cake  were  distributed.  The  young  ladies  were 
all  busy  in  passing  morsels  of  it  through  the  wed- 
ding-ring to  dream  on,  and  I myself  assisted  a 
little  boarding-school  girl  in  putting  up  a quantity 
for  her  companions,  which  I have  no  doubt  will 
set  all  the  little  heads  in  the  school  gadding,  for 
a week  at  least. 

After  dinner  all  the  company,  great  and  small, 
gentle  and  simple,  abandoned  themselves  to  the 
dance : not  the  modern  quadrille,  with  its  grace- 
ful gravity,  but  the  merry,  social,  old  country- 
dance  ; the  true  dance,  as  the  Squire  says,  for  a 
wedding  occasion,  as  it  sets  all  the  world  jigging 
in  couples,  hand  in  hand,  and  makes  every  eye  and 
every  heart  dance  merrily  to  the  music.  Ac- 


THE  WEDDING . 


529 


cording  to  frank  old  usage,  the  gentlefolks  of  the 
Hall  mingled  for  a time  in  the  dance  of  the  peas- 
antry, who  had  a great  tent  erected  for  a ball- 
room ; and  I think  I never  saw  Master  Simon 
more  in  his  element  than  when  figuring  about 
among  his  rustic  admirers  as  master  of  the  cere- 
monies; and,  with  a mingled  air  of  protection  and 
gallantry,  leading  out  the  quondam  Queen  of 
May,  all  blushing  at  the  signal  honor  conferred 
upon  her. 

In  the  evening  the  whole  village  was  illumi- 
nated, excepting  the  house  of  the  radical,  who 
has  not  shown  his  face  during  the  rejoicings. 
There  was  a display  of  fireworks  at  the  school- 
house,  got  up  by  the  prodigal  son,  which  had  well- 
nigh  set  fire  to  the  building.  The  Squire  is  so 
much  pleased  with  the  extraordinary  services  of 
this  last-mentioned  worthy,  that  he  talks  of  en- 
rolling him  in  his  list  of  valuable  retainers,  and 
promoting  him  to  some  important  post  on  the  es- 
tate ; peradventure  to  be  falconer,  if  the  hawks 
can  ever  be  brought  into  proper  training. 

There  is  a well-known  old  proverb,  which  says 
" one  wedding  makes  many,”  — or  something  to 
the  same  purpose  ; and  I should  not  be  surprised 
if  it  holds  good  ift  the  present  instance.  I have 
seen  several  flirtations  among  the  young  people 
brought  together  on  this  occasion  ; and  a great 
deal  of  strolling  about  in  pairs,  among  the  retired 
walks  and  blossoming  shrubberies  of  the  old  gar- 
den : and  if  groves  were  really  given  to  whisper- 
ing, as  poets  would  fain  make  us  believe,  Heaven 
knows  what  love-tales  the  gra  ^e-looking  old  trees 
34 


530 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


about  this  venerable  country-seat  might  blab  to 
the  world. 

The  general,  too,  has  waxed  very  zealous  in  his 
devotions  within  the  past  few  days,  as  the  time 
of  her  ladyship’s  departure  approaches.  I ob- 
served him  casting  many  a tender  look  at  her  dur- 
ing the  wedding  dinner,  while  the  courses  were 
changing ; though  he  was  always  liable  to  be  in- 
terrupted in  his  adoration  by  the  appearance  of 
any  new  delicacy.  The  general,  in  fact,  has  ar- 
rived at  that  time  of  life  when  the  heart  and  the 
stomach  maintain  a kind  of  balance  of  power, 
and  when  a man  is  apt  to  be  perplexed  in  his  af- 
fections between  a fine  woman  and  a truffled  tur- 
key. Her  ladyship  was  certainly  rivalled  through 
the  whole  of  the  first  course  by  a dish  of  stewed 
carp;  and  there  was  one  glance,  which  was  evi- 
dently intended  to  be  a point-blank  shot  at  her 
heart,  and  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  effect  a 
practicable  breach,  had  it  not  unluckily  been  di- 
rected away  to  a tempting  breast  of  lamb,  in  which 
it  immediately  produced  a formidable  incision. 

Thus  did  this  faithless  general  go  on,  coquet- 
ting during  the  whole  dinner,  and  committing  an 
infidelity  with  every  new  dish  ; until,  in  the  end, 
he  was  so  overpowered  by  the ’attentions  he  had 
paid  to  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  to  pastry,  jelly,  cream, 
and  blanc-mange,  that  he  seemed  to  sink  within 
himself ; his  eyes  swam  beneath  their  lids,  and 
their  fire  was  so  much  slackened  that  he  could  no 
longer  discharge  a single  glance  that  would  reach 
across  the  table.  Upon  the  whole,  I fear  the  gen- 
eral ate  himself  into  as  much  disgrace,  at  this 


THE  WEDDING. 


531 


memorable  dinner,  as  I have  seen  him  sleep  him- 
self into  on  a former  occasion. 

I am  told,  moreover,  that  young  Jack  Tibbets 
was  so  touched  by  the  wedding  ceremony,  at  which 
he  was  present,  and  so  captivated  by  the  sensi- 
bility of  poor  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  certainly 
looked  all  the  better  for  her  tears,  that  he  had  a 
reconciliation  with  her  that  very  day  after  dinner, 
in  one  of  the  groves  of  the  park,  and  danced  with 
her  in  the  evening  ; to  the  complete  confusion  of 
all  Dame  Tibbets’s  domestic  politics.  I met  them 
walking  together  in  the  park,  shortly  after  the 
reconciliation  must  have  taken  place.  Young 
Jack  carried  himself  gayly  and  manfully ; but 
Phoebe  hung  her  head,  blushing,  as  I approached. 
However,  just  as  she  passed  me  and  dropped  a 
courtesy,  I caught  a shy  gleam  of  her  eye  from 
under  her  bonnet ; but  it  was  immediately  cast 
down  again.  I saw  enough  in  that  single  gleam, 
and  in  an  involuntary  smile  dimpling  about  her 
rosy  lips,  to  feel  satisfied  that  the  little  gypsy’s 
heart  was  happy  again. 

What  is  more,  Lady  Lillycraft,  with  her  usual 
benevolence  and  zeal  in  all  matters  of  this  tender 
nature,  on  hearing  of  the  reconciliation  of  the 
lovers,  undertook  the  critical  task  of  breaking 
the  matter  to  Peady-Money  Jack.  She  thought 
there  was  no  time  like  the  present,  and  attacked 
the  sturdy  old  yeoman  that  very  evening  in  the 
park,  while  his  heart  was  yet  lifted  up  with  the 
Squire’s  good  cheer.  Jack  was  a little  sur- 
prised at  being  drawn  aside  by  her  ladyship, 
but  was  not  to  be  flurried  by  such  an  honor : he 


53  2 


BRACEBllIDGE  HALL. 


was  still  more  surprised  by  the  nature  of  her 
communication,  and  by  this  first  intelligence  of 
an  affair  that  had  been  passing  under  his  eye. 
He  listened,  however,  with  his  usual  gravity,  as 
her  ladyship  represented  the  advantages  of  the 
match,  the  good  qualities  of  the  girl,  and  the  dis- 
tress which  she  had  lately  suffered  : at  length  his 
eye  began  to  kindle,  and  his  hand  to  play  with 
the  head  of  his  cudgel.  Lady  Lillycraft  saw  that 
something  in  the  narrative  had  gone  wrong,  and 
hastened  to  mollify  his  rising  ire  by  reiterating  the 
soft-hearted  Phoebe’s  merit  and  fidelity,  and  her 
great  unhappiness ; when  old  Ready-Money  sud- 
denly interrupted  her  by  exclaiming,  that,  if  Jack 
did  not  marry  the  wench,  he ’d  break  every  bone 
in  his  body  ! The  match,  therefore,  is  considered 
a settled  thing  : Dame  Tibbets  and  the  house- 
keeper have  made  friends,  and  drunk  tea  together  ; 
and  Phoebe  has  again  recovered  her  good  looks 
and  good  spirits,  and  is  carolling  from  morning  till 
night  like  a lark. 

But  the  most  whimsical  caprice  of  Cupid  is  one 
that  I should  be  almost  afraid  to  mention,  did  I not 
know  that  I was  writing  for  readers  well  experi- 
enced in  the  waywardness  of  this  most  mischievous 
deity.  The  morning  after  the  wedding,  therefore, 
while  Lady  Lillycraft  was  making  preparations 
for  her  departure,  an  audience  was  requested  by 
her  immaculate  handmaid,  Mrs.  Hannah,  who, 
with  much  primming  of  the  mouth,  and  many 
maidenly  hesitations,  requested  leave  to  stay  be 
hind,  and  that  Lady  Lillycraft  would  supply  her 
place  with  some  other  servant.  Her  Myship  was 


THE  WEDDING . 


533 


astonished ; “ What ! Hannah*  going  to  quit  her, 
that  had  lived  with  her  so  long  ! ” 

“ Why,  one  could  not  help  it ; one  must  settle 
in  life  some  time  or  other.” 

The  good  lady  was  still  lost  in  amazement ; at 
length  the  secret  was  gasped  from  the  dry  lips  of 
the  maiden  gentlewoman  : u She  had  been  some 
time  thinking  of  changing  her  condition,  and  at 
length  had  given  her  word,  last  evening,  to  Mr. 
Christy,  the  huntsman.” 

How,  or  when,  or  where  this  singular  court- 
ship had  been  carried  on,  I have  not  been  able 
to  learn  ; nor  how  she  has  been  able,  with  the 
vinegar  of  her  disposition,  to  soften  the  stony  heart 
of  old  Nimrod  ; so,  however,  it  is,  and  it  has  as- 
tonished every  one.  With  all  her  ladyship’s  love 
of  match-making,  this  last  fume  of  Hymen’s  torch 
has  been  too  much  for  her.  She  has  endeavored 
to  reason  with  Mrs.  Hannah,  but  all  in  vain  ; her 
mind  was  made  up,  and  she  grew  tart  on  the  least 
contradiction.  Lady  Lillycraft  applied  to  the 
Squire  for  his  interference.  “ She  did  not  know 
what  she  should  do  without  Mrs.  Hannah,  she 
had  been  used  to  have  her  about  her  so  long  a 
time.” 

The  Squire,  on  the  contrary,  rejoiced  in  the 
match,  as  relieving  the  good  lady  from  a kind  of 
toilet-tyrant,  under  whose  sway  she  had  suffered 
for  years.  Instead  of  thwarting  the  affair,  there- 
fore, he  has  given  it  his  full  countenance ; and 
declares  that  he  will  set  up  the  young  couple  in 
one  of  the  best  cottages  on  his  estate.  The  ap- 
probation of  the  Squire  has  been  followed  by  that 


534 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


of  the  whole  household  ; they  all  declare,  that,  if 
ever  matches  are  ready  made  in  heaven,  this  must 
have  been,  for  that  old  Christy  and  Mrs.  Han- 
nah were  as  evidently  formed  to  be  linked  to- 
gether as  ever  were  pepper  - box  and  vinegar- 
cruet. 

As  soon  as  this  matter  was  arranged,  Lady 
Lilly  craft  took  her  leave  of  the  family  at  the 
Hall ; taking  with  her  the  captain  and  his  blush- 
ing bride,  who  are  to  pass  the  honeymoon  with 
her.  Master  Simon  accompanied  them  on  horse- 
back, and  indeed  means  to  ride  on  ahead  to  make 
preparations.  The  general,  who  was  fishing  in 
vain  for  an  invitation  to  her  seat,  handed  her 
ladyship  into  her  carriage  with  a heavy  sigh  ; 
upon  which  his  bosom-friend,  Master  Simon,  who 
was  just  mounting  his  horse,  gave  me  a knowing 
wink,  made  an  abominably  wry  face,  and  leaning 
from  his  saddle,  whispered  loudly  in  my  ear,  “ It 
won’t  do  ! ” Then  putting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
away  he  cantered  off.  The  general  stood  for 
some  time  waving  his  hat  after  the  carriage  as  it 
rolled  down  the  avenue,  until  he  was  seized  with 
a fit  of  sneezing,  from  exposing  his  head  to  the 
cool  breeze.  I observed  that  he  returned  rather 
thoughtfully  to  the  house  ; whistling  softly  to  him- 
self, with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  an  ex- 
ceedingly dubious  air. 

The  company  have  now  almost  all  taken  their 
departure ; I have  determined  to  do  the  same  to- 
morrow morning ; and  I hope  my  reader  may 
not  think  that  I have  already  lingered  too  long 
at  the  Hall.  I have  been  tempted  to  do  so,  how- 


THE  WEDDING. 


535 


sver,  because  I thought  I had  lit  upon  one  of  the 
retired  places  where  there  are  yet  some  traces  to 
be  met  with  of  old  English  character.  A little 
while  hence,  and  all  these  will  probably  have 
passed  away.  Ready-Money  Jack  will  sleep 
with  his  fathers  ; the  good  Squire,  and  all  his 
peculiarities,  will  be  buried  in  the  neighboring 
church.  The  old  Hall  will  be  modernized  into  a 
fashionable  country-seat,  or,  peradventure,  a man- 
ufactory. The  park  will  be  cut  up  into  petty 
farms  and  kitchen-gardens.  A daily  coach  will 
run  through  the  village  ; it  will  become,  like  all 
other  commonplace  villages,  thronged  with  coach- 
men, post  - boys,  tipplers,  and  politicians ; and 
Christmas,  May-day,  and  all  the  other  hearty 
merry-makings  of  the  “ good  old  times,”  will  be 
forgotten. 


THE  AUTHOR’S  FAREWELL. 

And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 

I hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part. 

Hamlet. 


AYING  taken  leave  of  the  Hall  and  its 
inmates,  and  brought  the  history  of  my 
visit  to  something  like  a close,  there 
seems  to  remain  nothing  further  than  to  make  my 
bow,  and  exit.  It  is  my  foible,  however,  to  get 
on  such  companionable  terms  with  my  reader  in 
the  course  of  a work,  that  it  really  costs  me  some 
pain  to  part  with  him,  and  I am  apt  to  keep  him 
by  the  hand,  and  have  a few  farewell  words  at 
the  end  of  my  last  volume. 

When  I cast  an  eye  back  upon  the  work  [ am 
just  concluding,  I cannot  but  be  sensible  how 
full  it  must  be  of  errors  and  imperfections  ; in- 
deed, how  should  it  be  otherwise,  writing,  as  I 
do,  about  subjects  and  scenes  with  which,  as  a 
stranger,  I am  but  partially  acquainted  ? Many 
will,  doubtless,  find  cause  to  smile  at  very  obvi- 
ous blunders  which  I may  have  made  ; and  many 
may,  perhaps,  be  offended  at  what  they  may  con- 
ceive prejudiced  representations.  Some  will 
think  I might  have  said  much  more  on  such  sub- 
jects as  may  suit  their  peculiar  tastes  ; whilst 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL. 


537 


others  will  think  I had  done  wiser  to  have  left 
those  subjects  entirely  alone. 

It  will  probably  be  said,  too,  by  some,  that  I 
view  England  with  a partial  eye.  Perhaps  I do  ; 
for  I can  never  forget  that  it  is  my  “ fatherland.’’ 
And  yet  the  circumstances  under  which  I have 
viewed  it  have  by  no  means  been  such  as  were 
calculated  to  produce  favorable  impressions.  For 
the  greater  part  of  the  time  that  I have  resided 
in  it,  I have  lived  almost  unknowing  and  un- 
known ; seeking  no  favors  and  receiving  none  ; — 
“ a stranger  and  a sojourner  in  the  land,”  and 
subject  to  all  the  chills  and  neglects  that  are  the 
common  lot  of  the  stranger. 

When  I consider  these  circumstances,  and  rec- 
ollect how  often  I have  taken  up  my  pen,  with  a 
mind  ill  at  ease,  and  spirits  much  dejected  and 
cast  down,  I cannot  but  think  I was  not  likely 
to  err  on  the  favorable  side  of  the  picture.  The 
opinions  I Lave  given  of  English  character  have 
been  the  result  of  much  quiet,  dispassionate,  and 
varied  observation.  It  is  a character  not  to  be 
hastily  studied,  for  it  always  puts  on  a repulsive 
and  ungracious  aspect  to  a stranger.  Let  those, 
then,  who  condemn  my  representations  as  too 
favorable,  observe  this  people  as  closely  and  de- 
liberately as  I have  done,  and  they  will,  probably, 
change  their  opinion.  Of  one  thing,  at  any  rate, 
I am  certain,  that  I have  spoken  honestly  and 
sincerely,  from  the  convictions  of  my  mind  and 
the  dictates  of  my  heart.  When  I first  published 
my  former  writings,  it  was  with  no  hope  of  gain- 
ing favor  in  English  eyes,  for  I little  thought 


538 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


they  were  to  become  current  out  of  my  own  coun- 
try ; and  had  I merely  sought  popularity  among 
my  own  countrymen,  I should  have  taken  a more 
direct  and  obvious  way,  by  gratifying  rather  than 
rebuking  the  angry  feelings  then  prevalent  against 
England. 

And  here  let  me  acknowledge  my  warm,  my 
thankful  feelings,  at  the  effect  produced  by  one  of 
my  trivial  lucubrations.  I allude  to  the  essay  in 
the  “ Sketch-Book,”  on  the  subject  of  the  literary 
feuds  between  England  and  America.  I cannot 
express  the  heartfelt  delight  I have  experienced 
at  the  unexpected  sympathy  and  approbation  with 
which  those  remarks  have  been  received  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic.  I speak  this  not  from  any 
palt*  y feelings  of  gratified  vanity,  for  I attribute 
the  effect  to  no  merit  of  my  pen.  The  paper  in 
question  was  brief  and  casual,  and  the  ideas  it 
conveyed  were  simple  and  obvious.  “ It  was  the 
cause ; it  was  the  cause  ” alone.  There  was  a 
predisposition  on  the  part  of  my  readers  to  be 
favorably  affected.  My  countrymen  responded  in 
heart  to  the  filial  feelings  I had  avowed  in  their 
name  towards  the  parent  country  ; and  there  was 
a generous  sympathy  in  every  English  bosom 
towards  a solitary  individual,  lifting  up  his  voice 
in  a strange  land,  to  vindicate  the  injured  char- 
acter of  his  nation.  There  are  some  causes  so 
sacred  as  to  carry  with  them  an  irresistible  ap- 
peal to  every  virtuous  bosom  ; and  he  needs  bul 
little  power  of  eloquence,  who  defends  the  honor 
of  his  wife,  his  mother,  or  his  country. 

I hail,  therefore,  the  success  of  that  brief  paper 


THE  AUThOR'S  FAREWELL. 


539 


as  showing  how  much  good  may  be  done  by  a 
kind  word,  however  feeble,  when  spoken  in  sea- 
son, — as  showing  how  much  dormant  good  feel- 
ing actually  exists  in  each  country,  towards  the 
other,  which  only  wants  the  slightest  spark  to 
kindle  it  into  a genial  flame,  — as  showing,  in 
fact,  what  I have  all  along  believed  and  asserted, 
that  the  two  nations  would  grow  together  in  es- 
teem and  amity,  if  meddling  and  malignant  spirits 
would  but  throw  by  their  mischievous  pens,  and 
leave  kindred  hearts  to  the  kindly  impulses  of 
nature. 

I once  more  assert,  and  I assert  it  with  in- 
creased conviction  of  its  truth,  that  there  exists 
among  the  great  majority  of  my  countrymen  a 
favorable  feeling  toward  England.  I repeat  this 
assertion,  because  I think  it  a truth  that  cannot 
too  often  be  reiterated,  and  because  it  has  met 
with  some  contradiction.  Among  all  the  liberal 
and  enlightened  minds  of  my  countrymen,  among 
all  those  which  eventually  give  a tone  to  national 
opinion,  there  exists  a cordial  desire  to  be  on 
terms  of  courtesy  and  friendship.  But  at  the 
same  time  there  exists  in  those  very  minds  a dis- 
trust of  reciprocal  good-will  on  the  part  of  Eng- 
land. They  have  been  rendered  morbidly  sensi- 
tive by  the  attacks  made  upon  their  country  by 
the  English  press  ; and  their  occasional  irritability 
on  this  subject  has  been  misinterpreted  into  a set- 
tled and  unnatural  hostility. 

For  my  part,  I consider  this  jealous  sensibility 
as  belonging  to  generous  natures.  I should  look 
upon  riy  countrymen  as  fallen  indeed  from  that 


540 


BRA  CEBRIDGE  IIALL . 


independence  of  spirit  which  is  their  birth-gift 
as  fallen  indeed  from  that  pride  of  character  which 
they  inherit  from  the  proud  nation  from  which 
they  sprung,  could  they  tamely  sit  down  under 
the  infliction  of  contumely  and  insult.  Indeed, 
the  very  impatience  which  they  show  as  to  the 
misrepresentations  of  the  press,  proves  their  re- 
spect for  English  opinion,  and  their  desire  for 
English  amity  ; for  there  is  never  jealousy  where 
there  is  not  strong  regard. 

It  is  easy  to  say,  that  these  attacks  are  all  the 
effusions  of  worthless  scribblers,  and  treated  with 
silent  contempt  by  the  nation ; but,  alas ! the 
slanders  of  the  scribbler  travel  abroad,  and  the 
silent  contempt  of  the  nation  is  only  known  at 
home.  With  England,  then,  it  remains,  as  I have 
formerly  asserted,  to  promote  a mutual  spirit  of 
conciliation  ; she  has  but  to  hold  the  language  of 
friendship  and  respect,  and  she  is  secure  of  the 
good-will  of  every  American  bosom. 

In  expressing  these  sentiments,  I would  utter 
nothing  that  should  commit  the  proper  spirit  of 
my  countrymen.  We  seek  no  boon  at  England's 
hands  : we  ask  nothing  as  a favor.  Her  friend- 
ship is  not  necessary,  nor  would  her  hostility  be 
dangerous  to  our  well-being.  We  ask  nothing 
from  abroad  that  we  cannot  reciprocate.  But 
with  respect  to  England,  we  have  a warm  feeling 
of  the  heart,  the  glow  of  consanguinity  that  still 
lingers  in  our  blood.  Interest  apart  — past  dif- 
ferences forgotten  — we  extend  the  hand  of  old 
relationship.  We  merely  ask,  do  not  estrange  is 
from  you  ; do  not  destroy  the  ancient  tie  of  blood ; 


THE  AUTHORS  FAREWELL . 


541 


do  not  let  scoffers  and  slanderers  drive  a kindred 
nation  from  your  side  : we  would  fain  be  friends  ; 
do  not  compel  us  to  be  enemies. 

There  needs  no  better  rallying  ground  for  in- 
ternational amity  than  that  furnished  by  an  emi- 
nent English  writer.  “ There  is,”  says  he,  “ a sa- 
cred bond  between  us  of  blood  and  of  language, 
which  no  circumstances  can  break.  Our  litera- 
ture must  always  be  theirs  ; and  though  their  laws 
are  no  longer  the  same  as  ours,  we  have  the  same 
Bible,  and  we  address  our  common  Father  in  the 
same  prayer.  Nations  are  too  ready  to  admit 
that  they  have  natural  enemies  ; why  should  they 
be  less  willing  to  believe  that  they  have  natural 
friends  ? ” * 

To  the  magnanimous  spirits  of  both  countries 
must  we  trust  to  carry  such  a natural  alliance  of 
affection  into  full  effect.  To  pens  more  powerful 
than  mine  I leave  the  noble  task  of  promoting  the 
cause  of  national  amity.  To  the  intelligent  and 
enlightened  of  my  own  country  I address  my 
parting  voice,  entreating  them  to  show  themselves 
superior  to  the  petty  attacks  of  the  ignorant  and 
the  worthless,  and  still  to  look  with  dispassionate 
and  philosophic  eye  to  the  moral  character  of 
England,  as  the  intellectual  source  of  our  rising 
greatness ; while  I appeal  to  every  generous- 
minded  Englishman  from  the  slanders  which  dis- 
grace the  press,  insult  the  understanding,  and  be- 

* From  an  article  (said  to  be  by  Robert  Southey,  Esq.) 
published  in  the  Quarterly  Review.  It  is  to  be  lamented 
that  that  publication  should  so  often  forget  the  generous  text 
here  given. 


542 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL . 


lie  the  magnanimity  of  his  country  ; and  I invite 
him  to  look  to  America  as  to  a kindred  nation 
worthy  of  its  origin  ; giving,  in  the  healthy  vigor 
of  its  growth,  the  best  of  comments  on  its  parent 
stock  ; and  reflecting,  in  the  dawning  brightness 
of  its  fame,  the  moral  effulgence  of  British  glory. 

I am  sure  that  such  an  appeal  will  not  be 
made  in  vain.  Indeed,  I have  noticed,  for  some 
time  past,  an  essential  change  in  English  senti- 
ment with  regard  to  America.  In  parliament, 
that  fountain-head  of  public  opinion,  there  seems 
to  be  an  emulation,  on  both  sides  of  the  house,  in 
holding  the  language  of  courtesy  and  friendship. 
The  same  spirit  is  daily  becoming  more  and  more 
prevalent  in  good  society.  There  is  a growing 
curiosity  concerning  my  country  ; a craving  de- 
sire for  correct  information,  that  cannot  fail  to 
lead  to  a favorable  understanding.  The  scoffer, 
I trust,  has  had  his  day ; the  time  of  the  slan- 
derer is  gone  by ; the  ribald  jokes,  the  stale 
commonplaces,  which  have  so  long  passed  current 
when  America  was  the  theme,  are  now  banished 
to  the  ignorant  and  the  vulgar,  or  only  perpetu- 
ated by  the  hireling  scribblers  and  traditional 
jesters  of  the  press.  The  intelligent  and  high- 
minded  now  pride  themselves  upon  making  Amer- 
ica a study. 

But  however  my  feelings  may  be  understood  or 
reciprocated  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  I 
utter  them  without  reserve,  for  I have  ever  found 
that  to  speak  frankly  is  to  speak  safely.  I am 
not  so  sanguine  as  to  believe  that  the  two  nations 
are  ever  to  be  bound  together  by  any  romantic  ties 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL . 


543 


of  feeling  ; but  I believe  that  much  may  be  done 
towards  keeping  alive  cordial  sentiments,  were 
every  well-disposed  mind  occasionally  to  throw 
in  a simple  word  of  kindness.  If  I have,  indeed, 
produced  any  such  effect  by  my  writings,  it  will 
be  a soothing  reflection  to  me,  that  for  once,  in 
the  course  of  a rather  negligent  life,  I have  been 
useful ; that  for  once,  by  the  casual  exercise  of  a 
pen  which  has  been  in  general  but  too  unprofita- 
bly  employed,  I have  awakened  a chord  of  sym- 
pathy between  the  land  of  my  fathers  and  the 
dear  land  which  gave  me  birth. 

In  the  spirit  of  these  sentiments  I now  take 
my  farewell  of  the  paternal  soil.  With  anxious 
eye  do  I behold  the  clouds  of  doubt  and  difficulty 
that  lower  over  it,  and  earnestly  do  I hope  they 
may  all  clear  up  into  serene  and  settled  sunshine. 
In  bidding  this  last  adieu,  my  heart  is  filled  with 
fond,  yet  melancholy  emotions  ; and  still  I linger, 
and  still,  like  a child  leaving  the  venerable  abodes 
of  his  forefathers,  I turn  to  breathe  forth  a filial 
benediction : “ Peace  be  within  thy  walls,  oh 
England ! and  plenteousness  within  thy  palaces  ; 
for  my  brethren  and  my  companions’  sake  I will 
now  say,  Peace  be  within  thee  ! ” 


THE  END. 


L. 


\ 


- 


